


Unexpected, What You Did to My Heart

by SambliongPalpatine



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23392759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SambliongPalpatine/pseuds/SambliongPalpatine
Summary: A bus ride can change your life.
Relationships: Collins/Farrier (Dunkirk)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my lovelies!   
> First of, I hope all of you are keeping safe and following the sanitary measures. 
> 
> Second, I love this ship and have been wanting to write a fic for ages but hadn’t had the inspiration/ideas until now. 
> 
> Even when this is a Modern AU, Farrier has still seen war because I’m mean like that. If you’ve read my work before you’d know I love my hurt/comfort and scars hehe. 
> 
> Maybe because I’d have liked someone to be there and give me some comfort when I went through my dark times. Also because I know how hard it is to come to terms and accept one’s scars. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and please toss me a lil comment or at least leave a kudo. 
> 
> This will have 2 chapters so I’d be posting the 2 one in the next few days. Enjoy this one, I hope.

Farrier hates his job. Hates his coworkers. He hates his body, his scars. He hates his dull life. 

He sometimes hates himself. He seldom hates his parents. 

He never hates Beckett, his cat. Nor Canfield, his oldest friend. 

Most importantly, he would never ever hate his bus rides. If only because of that blonde lad that takes the same ride as he. 

Farrier doesn’t know anything about him; not his name, not his address, nor his favorite music, nor favorite animal. He doesn’t know what he does for a living, what he likes or doesn’t like. He doesn’t know what he wishes out of life, if he likes dark or milk chocolate, if he wears socks to bed. Would he be a cuddler? Would he help him with his nightmares? Would he mind his scars? Would he-

He shakes his head, there is no point in thinking about all those things because for all he knows the man is straight and already has a partner. Or maybe he isn’t but he still has a partner. 

Point is, the 15 minute ride from his workplace back to his loft is the best part of his week. 

He sits there, every night, his head against the window, his bluer than blue eyes trained somewhere far away and Farrier just sits there and watches him like the creep old stalker he is. I mean, he’s pushing 40 for god’s sake and the blonde look to be in his 20’s, so that is why he limits himself to observe. 

That’s all he needs; 15 minutes of happiness to get him through. Except for the weekends, when he doesn’t get his fix of the gorgeous guy. 

Now Farrier doesn’t have a bad life; he has health (his PTSD and scars not withstanding), he is alive, he’s got a job (that he hates but at least he has one), he has a roof over his head and food in his belly, he doesn’t see his family that often (which is good) and he has a cat (best friend and love of his life). So yeah, he has a good life. 

Good doesn’t mean fulfilled, though. Good doesn’t mean ‘good.’ Good doesn’t mean he likes it. 

Because truth be told is that he’s alone. No one has ever stuck with him long enough to really get to know him. Some can’t handle his PTSD and others are repelled by his scars. After a load of heartbreak then he deemed it unnecessary to keep risking it by trying to find someone. Too many beginnings that turned out to be endings become tiresome after a while. 

He isn’t happy but he manages. He has Canfield and his family. And this blonde stranger he met two months ago. 

Today however, the routine changes. Today the man isn’t alone. 

Farrier was already having a pretty awful day; he slept around 2 hours in total, then he burnt his toast and he found a dead mouse hidden between the couch cushions. If that wasn’t enough he also lost his first bus and then at work a stupid coworker, who Farrier thinks is named Harris, had messed up the accountancy books of one of their most important clients and fuck it had taken Farrier hours to fix it, he didn’t eat lunch and the stupid bugger had only stuttered and ran away. 

Awful, shitty day, you see? And all he wanted at the end of it was to have a fill of the beautiful man that shared this bus with him. 

But not even that goes well. There is a gorgeous brunette guy with an arm slung around his, he’ll revisit this use of the possessive later, man’s shoulders, pulling the blonde closer and making him smile. 

And god but are those dimples? Jesus fucking christ. 

Anyway, even if he knew that the chance of the blonde being taken was real, he didn’t want it confirmed. He’s glad he hasn’t tried to strike a conversation with the blonde, save himself the disappointment. 

Farrier exhales and rests his head against the cushion; his father always said pieces of shit like him aren’t meant for good things like that. 

He is broken, damaged goods that no one would want. So he has built walls inside (maybe with a little bit of secret hope of someone taking the time to bring them down) and put up an aloof and detached front. 

But sometimes, when he hurt the most, he wishes he had someone to hold him and just listen to him. At least he has Beckett. 

He’s brought out of his mind when there’s tires screeching and glass bursting and yelling, claxons blaring, people panicking-

Farrier’s ears start ringing and he is suddenly back in that place. It’s dark and it smells of fire, petrol, blood and death. There’s the sound of engines and bullets. His plane falling, falling, falling and he doesn’t scream, he can’t. There is no time and there is searing pain shooting through him but there is no time and his ears are ringing and he doesn’t have time, he has to get to safety. He has to-

"Hey, hey," there is an unknown voice and someone is shaking him. 

He realizes he is hyperventilating and his hands are shaking and he is curled between his seat and the front one and there, in front of him, knelt his blue-eyed, golden-haired angel. 

Looking at him worriedly. His warm, delicate hand still on Farrier’s shoulder. Those blue eyes staring kindly at him. 

"Hey," he says again, gently. "You okay mate?" he asks. 

And oh, is that a Scottish accent? The blonde’s mouth’s corners downturned and his eyebrows bunched and Farrier wants only to smooth it out. 

"Ah, y- yeah," he clears his throat, swallowing with difficulty. "It’s just I had a flashback," he awkwardly says. 

The man doesn’t look convinced. "Oh," he says, standing up and offers a hand for Farrier to take. "C’mon, bus is bust,” he helps him up; his hand feels calloused but somehow still soft and warm. 

He’s taller than Farrier, which the older man finds attractive, they are still holding hands and their eyes locked and they were having a moment but before either could say anything, the blonde’s companion reappears. 

"Let’s go Jackie, film’s about to start," he says cheerfully, pulling on his friend’s arm. 

Said man doesn’t seem to have heard him though, still caught in Farrier’s stare. The brunette doesn’t want to let go. The blonde doesn’t seem to, either. 

But his friend is nothing but persistent. "Oi, Jackie, this bus isn’t moving anywhere, neither will traffic so yeah, we shall be on our way," the man insists. 

The blonde-Jackie? Jack?- finally snaps out of it. He turns a quick smile to his companion. "Ye, Alex. Give me a moment," then he turns back to Farrier, still smiling. “You going to be alright, mate?” he asks softly. 

Farrier nods without really meaning it. "I will, yes,” he says blankly. 

Truth is he is far from alright. Not after having a flashback. 

He, of course, isn’t about to say nothing about it to the blonde. Especially not with all the people running around. 

The man nods and pats Farrier’s shoulder. "Alright then," he smiles and gives a little wave goodbye and walks off, his friend’s arm around the blonde’s shoulders yet again. 

Indeed traffic is at a stalemate when he very slowly exits the bus. Apparently there had been a collision of three or four cars and the bus barely managed to avoid the worst of the crash. 

There are alarms blaring all around and glass strewn everywhere. Policemen are corraling the view-standers that were on the way of the paramedics. The noise of the crying children and the ambulances aren’t helping Farrier’s nerves. 

At all. 

He makes his wobbly way in the opposite direction from where his blonde had gone. 

He just has to get home, where he feels safe; he’s lived in that flat for over a decade, he’s made memories there, he knows each nuke and cranny and in turn the place has seen his darkest moments as well as his happiest. 

He knows which space he can hide in when he has one of his... moods. It always does the trick. 

A particularly loud wail makes him jump, pulse picking up and his breath shallow. There’s a buzzing in his ears that make him feel dizzy, forcing Farrier to almost collapse against a random wall to try and get his bearings. 

Shite. Shite shite shite. 

Not again. 

His plane is falling, the belt is holding him tight against the seat so he can’t breathe properly and god it smells of gasoline and fire and his head is about to burst and everything hurts and he is going to die like his Fortis leader just a minute ago. No one ever prepared him for this. 

His plane is still plummeting down, he can see the darkness waiting for him with open arms, beckoning him as if she’s miss him and his head is spinning and there is blood pouring from his leg and probably a million other places and he is dying and- and- 

“Jesus, hey, hey, what the hell,” someone is shaking him. “Shit, why’d you say you were alright? C’mon, you’re in London 2020, not in wherever it is your mind’s taking ya,” the person is still shaking him and his voice sounds familiar but he can’t pinpoint from where. 

“C’mon mate, come back,” they are pleading with him now but the screams inside his head make it all sound muffled. 

Then there is something being placed in his ears and some instrumental music floods his brain, quelling down all the extra noise. His breathing comes easier now and his head’s stopped buzzing. 

And like that, little by little, he refocuses on the here and now. He opens his eyes-and when had they closed?- to land upon a pair of brown eyes and another of blue eyes he knows. 

Jesus, for how long has he been leaning against this wall?

Then he realizes there are earbuds inside his ears and the two people standing in front of him were wearing worried expressions. 

“Jesus mate,” the brunette exhales. 

Farrier knows the lad just spoke because he sees his lips moving, given he’s still wearing the buds and music is flowing. 

He takes them out after a moment, they aren’t his after all, and offers them back with a grateful nod. 

“Thanks,” he says, his voice doesn’t shake as he speaks. 

The brunette takes them with a small smile. “No problem, mate. Music helps,” his expression knowing now. 

His blonde beau looks at him from head to toe critically before looking back to his eyes. The emotion in them surprises Farrier but it’s gone before he can overanalyze it. 

He gives himself a mental shake and straightens his posture, pushing himself off the wall and dusts his clothes. “What are you two doing here? Thought you had gone the other way," he asks. 

"Couldn’t get to the theatre so we were going back home when we saw you," the blonde explains. And christ but he needs to ask this man’s name. 

"Oh well," not today, it seems, "thank you again," he smiles a shaky smile. 

"You can get yourself to yours alright?" the brunette asks with a dubious look. 

"Yes, this time it’s true," he reassures the other two. 

Neither looks convinced but they say nothing and part ways with one last concerned look and a wave. 

It surprises Farrier how much two basically strangers can worry about him, it still warms his heart a little, though. 

Even if it still irks him the fact that those two apparently lived together. 

"Honey, I’m home," he calls out when he pushes the door to his flat close behind him. 

He receives a meow in reply, pulling a smile from the man. "Hey buddy," he greets the purring cat with a scratch between the ears. 

Beckett purrs a little more before strutting away like cats do. Farrier chuckles fondly and toes his shoes off.

He walks to the kitchen, pressing the button on the recording machine as he goes. He contemplates pouring himself a glass of water but when his mother’s voice drifts over he opts for a glass of scotch instead. 

"Thomas," the stern voice of the woman sounds somewhat even sterner on the machine. "We have not seen you in two months. So you are required to lunch this weekend," she says. She never asks, she always demands. "See you saturday, then. Goodbye," and like that she hangs up and the message beeps to an end. 

Farrier hides his face in his hands and groans as loud as he can. He doesn’t want to go, he’s never enjoyed those lunches, but they are still his family. 

Even if they behaved as if they weren’t when he needed them the most. 

He abstains from drinking, his stranged family isn’t enough of a reason to do so anymore. 

So instead he drinks his water and goes to reheat leftovers from last night’s dinner after which he deletes the message so he can eat in peace. He sets his jazz playlist and gets on with sharing his meal with his cat. 

This is his life; work, leftovers and a cat. He sometimes watches documentaries on Netflix or goes with Canfield for a pint or spending the weekends with the man and his family or being dragged around by Erik. 

Overall he is pretty lonely and boring. 

Sometimes he has it more difficult. 

Tonight, for example, he won’t be able to fall asleep. Not after his earlier episodes. So he will go lay on the cot he placed years ago underneath the window ledge. 

Laying there always helps him relax and fall into a shallow doze. 

His parents have tried to set him up with daughters of some of their friends, thinking that would help ‘fix’ the plethora of problems their son has. 

Say it didn’t work would be an overstatement. 

They have never understood that the trauma and emotional scars can’t be fixed by pairing him up with someone he doesn’t even like. The fact that those women didn’t understand either and instead pressured him to be someone he isn’t, to be a man he hasn’t been for years didn’t help their case. 

They never could handle his PTSD flashbacks and they never liked his scars. 

He guesses not everybody is fit to deal with those kinds of things. But if you trully want to be with someone you have to accept them, scars and all, in order for it to work. 

It never does him any good to think about this stuff so he plunks down on the cot with Beckett curling on his stomach; his soft purrs helping him relax. 

When the weekend rolls around Farrier wishes he could skip time and let it be monday already. 

He isn’t looking forward to lunch with his parents;there are always certain expectations with going to the family house. 

Expectations like dressing well and knowing how to behave, saying the right things and pretend to be the son his parents want him to be. Expectations he’s always hated and couldn’t be bother fulfilling. 

So he dresses in jeans (ripping on the knees, of course) and a pinkish shirt that used to be red-before being washed so many times- and a pair of ratty converse because if he is going to enter a battlefield he sure as hell wasn’t going to do so unprotected. 

"Well chap, I’m off to battle. Mind wishing me luck?” he prompts his furry friend. 

Who is currently regaly sitting there, licking his paw ominously as if he were Farrier’s landlord expecting rent. But being the charitable feline he was, does dignify the human with a ‘good luck’ meow and a purr. 

Farrier pats him one last time before he feels somewhat ready to leave. 

To the tube he goes, then. 

The butler, it still baffles him his parents keep one, opens the door for him and shows him to where his parents waited. 

As he walks down the cold corridors devoid of life or family photos or really any color, he remembers why he left as soon as he could. 

When he entered the dinning room with his already waiting parents, all proper and stern looking in their pressed attires and the china perfectly set on the table, he remembers why he doesn’t come back as often as his parents would want him to. 

His mother looks at his wordrobe choice in distaste but otherwise says nothing. Farrier smirks and gives himself a mental pat. 

"Mother, father," he greets blankly. 

"Son," his father nods in answer. 

"Thomas,” his mother smiles thinly. 

He takes his usual seat to his father’s left and immediately grabs the napkin to place it on his thigh. 

There are teachings you can’t outgrow hard though you may try to. 

He’s never understood why the need of so many cutlery or why should he wait for everyone at the table to be served before he can start eating. He remembers when he was little and he would slip on the use of a spoon or a fork and his mother slapping his hand, making him repeat the process until he got it right. 

His family is posh like that; special cutlery for each kind of dish. That’s how he knows this time they be eating fish. 

He’s always had a morbid fascination with the way the table was set; precise and neat, spoon alongside the knife and forks at the other side of the plate and smaller spoons atop of it for dessert and sauce. 

"Thomas?" his mother’s voice brings him out of his thoughts. 

"Hmm?" he raises his head to find his mother’s disapproving stare and tight-lipped. "Sorry mum, table looks lovely," an empty compliment that serves to please the woman. 

He’s learnt that if he wants to have as pleasant a time as he can he must pay compliments, show good table manners and use the silverware correctly. Easy. 

Nonsensical but easy. 

The first course is brought; a wonderfully smelling onion soup and thankfully they are only three people so he can start eating quickly. 

"What I was going to ask Thomas is if you have your suit ready," his mother says without looking up from her soup. 

He nearly drops the spoon but fortunately his reflexes prevent it from happening. "I- ah," he stutters, feeling stupid. 

His mother very deliberately setts her cutlery down and pins him with a hard stare. "Thomas Friedrich Farrier," she enunciates calmly, which meant trouble and still makes him shiver at his 38 years of age. "You are telling me that you, when it’s only a fortnight for your sister’s wedding, haven’t picked your suit?"

"Mom-" he swallows visibly. "I-"

"Do not gruel the lad, Clara," his father interjects. "There is still time," he mumbles before taking his spoonful. 

"These things take their time, Gilbert," his mom says in exasperation. "He should know better as to leave it for the last moment," she continues eating with a frown. 

Farrier sighs, already knowing this will be a long, tiring evening. Which is nothing new. 

At least food is always superb, perks of employing a fancy chef. 

They continue the meal in silence, only broken by the sound of cutlery dragging against china and the creaky wheels of the food-cart. 

"So," his mother breaches the silence when the tea arrives. "Emmanuelle, my friend Amelia’s daughter, you remember her?" she asks, nonchalantly drinking her tea and peeking at him from the rim of the cup. 

Farrier nods absentmindedly, preoccupied with his fourth spoonful of sugar. 

"Christ, Thomas," the woman huffs in annoyance, moving the sugar bowl away from him. "Your tea is more sugar than actual tea," she shakes her head in disgust. "Anyway, as I was saying, my friend’s daughter is back from Belgium. I want you to take her to Charlotte’s wedding," she states. 

Farrier was afraid she would say something like that. "No. I am not," he says calmly. "I don’t even know her."

Clara Farrier shrugs, leaving her cup on the saucer. "Then what better occasion for getting to know her than a wedding?" she smiles. 

Farrier takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Mother," he starts patiently, "how many times do I have to ask you to stop introducing me your friends’ daughters?" he says trying to not raise his voice. 

"I am your mother, Thomas, I worry about you ending up alone," she says tersely. 

"Stop trying to fix the boy, Clara," his father says, distracted with his pipe. "You have been trying for years and it has not worked,” he adds offhandedly. 

"He is our oldest son, Gilbert, our youngest daughter is getting married and he is still single. We can’t have that," she insists. 

His father sighs and sets the pipe down. "Setting him up with someone won’t fix what he has broken,” he says. "Or maybe start intrducing sons instead of daughters," he sneers. 

Farrier just wants to finish his tea and get himself out of there. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s heard the same things over and over, it still makes him feel dejected. 

His mother says nothing, she never does. She looks away and continues sipping her tea. 

Apparently today is the day he speaks up, today is the day he says enough. He is wearing his armor and he is finally ready to give them a piece of his mind. 

"Is this why you wanted me to come? So you can insult me?" he grits out. "Even if it gladdens me that you always care about my... well-being and are invested on fixing me but-" he says sarcastically, drains the rest of his tea and setting the cup rather agressively down on its saucer. "I don’t need it. I’m pretty fine with my life as it is. So please," he pauses deliberately so he can stand up, dragging the chair back with a bit of effect. "Stop meddling or I will not be coming back," he says, speaking properly for once. "I’ll be taking my leave now," he bows mockingly and nearly scampers out of the room. 

When he slamms the door close, he can finally breathe freely. God but this was dreadful; at least he’s won brownie points for having made his mother uncomfortable with his clothing choice. 

He walks leisurely to the tube, berating himself for having forgotten all about his sister’s wedding. It’s all been hectic with work so a suit never crossed his mind. 

He’s also been thinking about the blonde man, he’s daydreamed a lot about how it’d be getting to know him, he seems nice and soft and generally someone Farrier would like to have in his life even as a friend. 

He decides to go visit the tailor’s so he can see what it can be done about his suit. His mom wanted him to wear his uniform but he had put his foot down, if he never used it again he would be happy. 

He knows that seeing him in his blues, with all his condecorations, makes his parents proud. They wished he would wear it to every social event they attended. His mother specially likes how her friends fawned all around him, touching his medals and letting out awed comments. 

Those were the moments where his father would pat him on the back and smile at him. In those moments he was the son his father wanted him to be. 

So he started to wear the uniform without the con decorations. He doesn’t like them anyway: having been awarded for killing people isn’t something he feels proud of. That’s why he has them all tucked away somewhere only he knows about. 

That’s another thing his parents nor his partners understand, it isn’t as if they made the effort either. 

It doesn’t matter anyway. Not anymore. 

‘Roll’s Suits’ is a small tailor shop owned by a elderly man named Rolland whom he’s known since he was a student and had brought his uniform to get his brevet sewn. 

"Evening, Rolly," he greets, as he pushes the door open. 

The man behind the counter smiles warmly at him underneath his greying mustache. "Evening chap," he returns with his gravelly voice. 

Farrier smiles back and walks closer. "How’s business?" he asks politely. 

The man makes an encompassing gesture around the place. "It goes and that is all I can ask for," he walks out from the counter, patting Farrier’s shoulder. "And you son, how have you been?" 

"Busy," he replies with a huff. 

Rolly shakes his head fondly. "Is that why your suit has been keepin’ me company for the past months?" 

Farrier smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck. "My mother reminded me today," he chuckles. 

The tailor smiles sympathetically. "Well come on then, that poor ensamble has been gathering dust in my backroom," he starts walking in the opposite direction, beckoning Farrier to follow. 

The older man opens the door to a medium-sized room filled with racks from which hung plastic-covered clothes. Some were really fancy looking. 

"Has all this been forgotten by their owners?" he asks, curious about how much time some of these pieces have been here. 

"Indeed they have," the tailor answers as he walks to the farthest rack. "You’d be surprised with how much people don’t mind forgetting," he says, distracted with browsing through the hangers for the right one. 

Farrier walks to the closest rack to peruse its contents. He wistles in appreciation at seeing the fancy tags in some of the pieces. There is even a frac, for the love of god. 

"Aha! Found it," the man exclaims in triumph. "Let us hope it still fits, lad," he eyes Farrier with critical eye. "You should go try it on," he pushes the sheathed suit into his arms. 

Farrier rolls his eyes at the man’s antics. "Yeah, yeah," he mutters, making his way to the changing room. 

He undresses without looking himself in the mirror; he may be muscled and olive-skinned-he knows he has a really attractive body- but there are still things he doesn’t like looking at. 

So he redresses in his dark-blue trousers, tucking his pinkish shirt in and then putting on the jacket, he realizes it’s a nice combination of colors. He smirks to his reflection, pondering wearing this exact same shirt to the wedding, if only for the reaction it would cause on his mother. 

"Come on lad, show me," a knock distracts him from his thoughts. 

He shrugs at himself and straightens his jacket before stepping out. He gives a little twirl in front of Rolly, letting escape a dramatic ‘ta-da’ for good measure. 

The tailor claps in good humor. "Very dashing, my boy. It looks good though I hope you don’t plan on wearing that shirt or you’d give your mother an apoplexy," he laughs, circling Farrier to better inspect the fitting. "Mm," he makes approving noises as he goes. 

"So what’s the verdict?" he prompts with a grin. 

The older man winks cheekily. "Perfect, we don’t have to fix it again," the man declares. 

Farrier slumps in relief, wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead with the back of a hand. "Phew, I was hoping you’d say that," he chuckles. "My mother would disinherit me."

"She will disinherit you anyway if you don’t dress properly," the man says. "You can change back now, if you want. As good as you look like this," he smiles kindly. 

Farrier feels himself blushing, he isn’t used to people complementing him. He goes back into the changing room to put back his clothes and join Rolly in the front of the store to get this all sorted. 

When he walks back he finds Rolly speaking on the phone and another costumer wondering around the shop. 

"Oh!” the woman exclaims happily upon seeing him.   
"Can you help me, sir? I came here to pick up my tux,” she asks. 

"Ah,” Farrier blinks, turning around in confusion. "Sorry ma’am, I- I don’t work here," he explains reluctantly. 

The woman scoffs and places a hand over her heart dramatically. "’Ma’am’? Jesus, do I look that old?" she looks horrified. 

He chuckles in embarrassment, looking down at his feet and feeling himself flush. "Oh no, I just-"

But a melodious laugh interrupts his lame attempt at apologizing. "Hey, no worries. I was just messing with you," she grins. 

He looks up at her again. Now that Farrier really looks at the woman he finds she is quite beautiful; wavey strawberry blonde hair cut short to her shoulders, blue-green eyes and a smattering of frekles on her round face. She also strikes him as somewhat familiar though he doesn’t know from where. 

He sends a quick look to the tailor but he was still arguing with whomever was at the other side of the phone. 

The woman is staring curiously at him when he turns back to her. "Do you, by any chance, know if he is finishing soon?" she has a pleasant posh accent and a soft voice so Farrier doesn’t mind speaking with her. 

He shakes his head apologetically. "Afraid not, love," he says. "But if you are in a hurry, I can pass him on a message,” he smiles. 

She returns it gratefully. "Oh how kind of you, thank you. I will go to pick up my shoes and then come back," she rummages through her purse and brings out a presentation card. "Here, tell him to give me a call if he finishes soon, please," she hands the card to him and walks away, or rather glides, away. 

Irene Collins, the piece of carton read. 

Rolly finishes the call with a huff. "Young people today, I’ll tell you," he shakes his head in exasperation. "Wanting tuxedos in outrageous colors,” he continues absentmindedly before remembering Farrier. "Anyway, where did the girl go?" he asks, looking around. 

"She went to pick her shoes up but left her card for you to call her," he passes on the card with her details. 

The older man scratches the side of his head as he inspects it. "Irene Collins... Irene Collins,,," he murmurs pensively to himself before his eyes light with recognition. "Ah yes, a loquacious lady that owns that purple tux, yes. I remember,” he nods. 

"She said she’d be back later, after she’s gotten the shoes,” Farrier says and places his own ensamble atop the counter to settle his bill. 

"You know, as coincidences go, the lad that just phoned was also named Collins and he also asked for a tux though he’d be dark pink or something," he laughs, as he grabs each piece to professionally bag it. "Anyway my boy, here you have yours," he smiles, moving his mustache a little. 

Farrier grins and grabs it, extending some notes to the man. "Thank you, Rolly. Wish me luck," he snarks. 

The older man pats his hand. "Oh dear, you don’t need it. Unless you want to pair up that suit with a yellow button-down," he winks cheekily. 

Farrier is seriously considering doing something of the sort, as he waves to the man and walks to the door...

In the same moment it’s being pushed open by the woman from before, who prances inside as she banters with someone on the phone. 

"...yes Jackie, I’ll see what can be done about a burgundy tux..." she smiles at Farrier in passing. 

He stops for a moment, mulling over that name. Jackie. Huh, must be a common name. He guesses it’s an unisex name, equally meant for men and women. 

He arrives home later; having stopped to get some cat’s food and some chinese for himself that he knows he’d end up sharing with his furry friend. 

There is a flurry of messages waiting for him on his recording machine when he arrives home. Two of the four are from his mother who prattled on and on about his rude manners and his shabby appearance and that he better sort his stuff out.

He just snorts and deletes them without a thought. 

At least he has his suit now. And it’s the royal blue of his uniform so she won’t be able to complain much. 

‘Much’ being the key word. 

-

The next two weeks fly on quickly. An assortment of work, trying to sleep and ignoring his family. 

He’d get up early to go run for his usual hour, come home to shower and have breakfast before taking himself to work and then go back home. Same old, same old. 

Except for the small big issue he doesn’t see his blonde for those two weeks. 

At first Farrier worries that something might have happened to him or that maybe he just changed bus after seeing Farrier’s episodes. 

But then he realizes it’s June so the blonde must be on holiday from university and therefore he should stop worrying. 

Still it makes him feel antsy, admiring the man from afar was the balm that soothed his battered soul and now he doesn’t have it his bus rides have become rutinary and boring. 

He’s even started to consider buying a car, save himself the trouble of falling for beautiful strangers that would never be his. 

But Farrier is nothing if not stubborn so he continues taking the same bus and pretending there is nothing missing. 

The first week is coming to an end and he let Erik-one of his only friends from work- drag him to a new pub that his girlfriend just opened in East London. 

Farrier doesn’t work well with crowds but Erik promised it isn’t so bad and that he’d be willing to drive Farrier back home if it gets too much. 

So here he is, mimosa in hand, as he listens to Erik and his lady Irina bickering in french. He may not be able to understand much of what is being said, it still sounds nice. 

Until Irina throws a word in swedish and storms off, promptly followed by his friend. 

Farrier sighs and rubs his face with his hands. He should have known, this always happens. 

Erik and Irina have an intense relationship; they clash a lot and hurl insults at each other in every one of the five languages they know but always, always, they make up. 

Because they are perfect together and above all, they love each other and Farrier is really happy-and envious- for them. 

Only complaint he has is that he often finds himself in the middle of it, always finds himself left alone while they... sort out the argument of the day. 

Like right now. At least there isn’t many people in the pub so he can sit at the bar comfortably and finish his drink in peace. 

"Oi, bus guy!"

Or not. 

He raises his head to see a familiar face grinning at him from the other side of the bar. 

"Oh, hi?” he says hesitantly. 

His fellow brunette chuckles attractively. "Yes, hello,” he answers, moving a lock of hair away from his face. 

Now that Farrier can see him properly he finds him to be quite attractive; makes sense his blonde interest would be with him. This guy is also charming and generally seems so carefree and lively. 

All qualities he doesn’t have. 

"You friends with the owner?" the barman winks knowingly as he starts drying some glasses. 

Farrier sips his drink. "With the boyfriend, don’t really know the lady," he says, swirling the liquid around. 

"I see. So are you third-wheeling tonight?" the other asks. 

Farrier goes to reply but the woman that just entered distracts him. She is the woman he met at the tailor’s. 

She is dressed impecably, her hair is pulled back with a ribbon and she is smiling. 

"Hey, you!" she beams, walking to the bar. 

For a crazy moment Farrier thinks she’s calling out to him. Which isn’t of course, the case as he sees the barman leave his spot and coming around the bar, equally beaming. 

"Hey, you!” he calls back. 

The other brunette- which name Farrier thinks is Alex- opens his arms for the woman, who readily falls into them. 

“Gosh love," he chuckles, spinning her around. "I didn’t know you were coming back so soon!”

She laughs happily, being placed back on her feet. "Didn’t my cousin tell you?" she asks. 

Potentially-named Alex shakes his head. "Silly bugger must’ve forgotten," he huffs. 

The woman rolls her eyes fondly. "That man never changes," she looks around the place when her eyes find Farrier’snand alight in recognition. "Hey, I know you!” she exclaims, clapping her hands once and moves to sit in the stool next to his. 

Her friend stands in confusion, eyebrow raised. "You know each other?” he asks. 

The woman nods. "Oh yeah! we met at a tailor’s shop. He called me ‘ma’am’ can you believe?" she accuses with mock-annoyance. 

Farrier nearly spits the sip he just took back out, turning wide eyes at her. She smiles cheekily at him so he relaxes again. "Well she thought I was an employee," he smirks at her. 

"Oh my, he banters," she snarks, eyes crinkling. 

The barman returns to his rightful place. "Good to see this side of you, mate," he comments earnestly. 

Farrier’s stomach churns and he swallows hard. "You have only seen me once, though," he says, not really wanting to go into this subject. 

The other two must gather this from his tone because they don’t continue with the particular question. 

Instead the younger man smiles a friendly smile and stretches a hand to Farrier. "Well then, I’m Alex," he introduces. 

"Ah, thought that was it," he smiles, taking the offered hand. "Thomas," for a moment he nearly introduces himself with his last name, as he used to do. 

"Nice name," the woman comments. "I’m Irene, but you knew that," she giggles. 

He turns his hand to her now. "It’s still good to have it refreshed," he winks. 

"There, we are acquainted now,” she shakes his hand firmly. 

Farrier likes that in a person; a firm handshake is synonym of confidence and that’s always nice. 

"So what can I get you, love?" Alex asks her. 

"A mimosa, please," she asks for. 

"Good choice." Farrier taps his half-full glass. "So, did you manage to pick your tux up?" he asks to Irene. 

She smiles broadly at him. "Oh, yes!" she says. "Thankfully."

"That atrocious purple thing your sister made you buy for your cousin’s wedding?" Alex asks, placing the drink in front of her. 

She clinks her glass against Farrier’s. "Cheers, drink-twin," she takes a sip and closes her eyes in delight. "And yep, that one,” she says in reply to Alex’s previous question. 

"Rolly mentioned he got a call from someone asking about a dark-pink tux," Farrier says. 

She snorts, making a gesture with a hand. "That must have been my cousin who was looking for a burgundy tux," she chuckles. 

Alex rolls his eyes. "Is your whole family wearing obnoxious suits to the event?" 

Farrier has the fleeting thought that maybe it’s his sister’s wedding because he’s heard her talk about her fiancé’s family and their ramboxiousness. He dismisses that idea though, coincidences like that don’t happen... do they? 

He doesn’t have the chance of saying anything else because in that moment his friend comes back looking smug and with a spring in his step. 

He drapes an arm around Farrier’s shoulders, sighing in contentment. "Bon, that was... satisfying," he sighs again. 

The other three just give him a quizzical look; two of them not knowing what he’s talking about and Farrier not having expected that comment. 

"Glad leaving me here alone was worth it," he says, trying to sound hurt but the smirk betrays his amusement. 

Erik pauses and finally focuses on the other two people. Alex gives him a nod Irene gives him a little wave. 

"Oh it seems you are pretty apt at entertaining yourself," he gives a smirk of his own. 

Farrier shrugs and gulps the rest of his drink. "It was them socializing with me more than the other way around," he says nonchalantly. 

"Gee, thanks," the other comically say at the same time. 

"I see a gorgeous lonely man I can’t not strike conversation," Irene says, seductive smile in place. 

Alex slaps her hand lightly. "Hey!" he says in mock-offense. "I actually saw him first," he turns batting eyes to Farrier. 

And jesus but these two are something else, aren’t they? 

Still, the exchange steals a surprised laugh from Farrier and his companion. 

"Oh sweetheart, you know I don’t mind sharing," the woman throws a wink at the other brunette. 

That makes Farrier choke with his own spit. These things don’t happen to him. 

"Ah, as flattered as I am-" he stutters. 

Irene places a hand on Farrier’s with a soft look on her eyes. "Oh dear, don’t hurt yourself. It’s all good-intentioned friendly jest,” she says and turns to Alex. "We are both spoken for," she smiles warmly to him. 

The man returns the look and then Farrier knows. He knows they are together and somehow it makes sense. 

Wait, so this means his blonde and Alex aren’t together? Well that’s good. Really good. 

"Oh Farri, that’s exactly what you need, attractive people wanting to share you," his friend elbows him playfully. 

The other two look pleased with themselves at this. Alex refills Farrier’s glass, ‘on the house’ he winks. 

"Eh, can I get one, too?" Erik asks, eyeing the drink. 

Alex wags a finger in the man’s face. "Oh no, mister. Boyfriend of the lady boss or not, you have to pay for it," he says, turning to serve another costumer. 

Farrier and Irene laugh at how crestfallen Erik looks when he isn’t poured a drink. 

"Why does he gets a free drink then?” he whines. 

Alex doesn’t even turn to answer. "He’s cute!" is the simple reply. 

Irene looks thoughtfully at Farrier while sipping her own mimosa. "Hmm, you know I think I should introduce you to my cousin-"

She is interrupted however, when the drunkard Alex just served trips and spils his tankard all over her. The man grunts a half-assed apology between hiccups and giggling stupidly. 

The woman just stares down at herself in a mixture of shock, disgust and... a tinge of amusement? "Oh. No. You didn’t," she says eerily calm. 

The man gesticulates drunkenly, as one tends to do when at that state of inebriation. The man continues babbling; something about little people and mini-football and something about a woman named Marianela who had a very prominent bosom but that ended up being a man. So he drinks. 

"Well I’m sorry," Irene says, not sounding at all sorry but instead is bitting back a laugh. "But I am not staying here and stew in cheap beer," she scrunches up her nose cutely. 

"So if it were expensive beer you wouldn’t mind?" Farrier playfully asks. 

She rolls her eyes. "Jesus no. Only if it were a fancy coktail," she turns to drain hers in one gulp. Then she elegantly jumps down from the stool and goes to dust her skirt before remembering the mess on it. "Be seeing you, I hope," she says to Farrier and then to Alex "see you later, love."

After patting the drunk on the shoulder, she walks off. 

And Farrier would discover, the next time they meet, what she meant about imtroducing him to her cousin. He’d also find out that coincidences indeed exist.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut mes amis !
> 
> Hope everyone is safe and resisting the quarantine. 
> 
> So, sometimes J get all antsy and self-doubting when my works don’t get the response I’d want them to, like this one, and therefore I had considered not continuing it. But then I thought to myself ‘why the hell am I gonna stop writing something that makes me happy?’ little matters if it gains the appreciation I wish it did. 
> 
> So yes, I chose to keep it going so whomever is out there reading this; thank you and enjoy.

Unexpected

"Kind of you to join us, Tommy!" his sister throws her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly. 

“Oi,” he chuckles, squeezing back. "Of course, Charlie. I had to come embarrass you ln front of your soon-to-be political family," he smirks. 

She slaps his arm in mock-annoyance. "Oh don’t you dare! They are incredibly posh and uptight," she tries to sound serious but is betrayed by a giggle. 

He rolls his eyes. "Well it isn’t as if I can embarrass myself in front of our family anymore, can I?" 

Now she rolls her eyes. "Yes, well. Mom brought Emmanuelle," she says, looking apologetic. "Maybe try not to rile her up too much, don’t want her to have an aneurysm so close to the wedding," she looks at him pointedly. 

Farrier closes his eyes and asks for patience. "Please tell me she didn’t," he says slowly. 

Charlotte sighs and pats him on the shoulder sympathetically. "Oh Tommy, she did. Emma isn’t that bad," she says. "I can save you while I introduce you to some people though," she smiles kindly. 

He ruffles her hair, knowing full well the reaction this would garner him. And sure enough, his sister shrieks and bats his hand away, fixing her hair back with a scowl. 

"Pull something like that again and I will lead you straight to her," she warns. 

Farrier swallows and raises his hands in surrender; he knows she isn’t joking. "Sorry love," he apologizes. 

She looks satisfied with the answer and loops her arm with his to start dragging him somewhere. 

They walk towards a group of merry people chatting excitedly; colorful cocktails in hand and smiles on lips. 

It’s funny to Farrier, seeing the differences between families; John’s- who is Charlotte’s fiancé- are carefree, kind, loud people. They don’t pretend, nor mind other people’s business. They were a very relaxed lot. 

Farrier likes them, they’ve always been accepting and have never judged him for being reserved and quiet, bordering in antisocial. They have no expectations about him being a veteran and respect his silence on the matter. 

Whereas his family.., well. Let’s just say they are the total opposite. 

"Oi, Charlie!" a redhead gestures with her hand to beckon them closer. "And who is this?" she eyes Farrier appraisingly, making him squirm. 

"This is Thomas, Emi," John says, coming to greet him with a friendly smile and a pat on the shoulder. "It’s so good to see you," he says, sounding earnest. 

"And you," Farrier returns the smile and then offers a hand to the redhead. "As he said, I’m Thomas and who may you be?"

The woman beams and vigorously shakes his hand. "Oh my, it’s so nice to finally meet you,I’m Remi,” she says, releasing his hand. "Funny coincidence, my sister was just telling me about this dashing man named Thomas she met recently," she laughs. 

"Oh ‘Thomas’ is a common name, I fear. Being dashing is part of our charm,” he winks. 

His sister rolls her eyes. “Nobody’s ever called you ‘dashing,’ Tommy,” she snarks. 

“No, they’ve only called me ‘gorgeous,’ pet,” he smirks. 

Remi looks intently at him for a moment before a mischievous smile blooms on her face. "You know, I think I should introduce you to our cousin,” she says, glancing conspiratorially at John. 

Now it’s Farrier’s turn to chuckle in amusement. “Funny coincidence, a woman I met recently told me the same thing," he says, copying her earlier words. 

Remi cocks an eyebrow. “Wow, it’s a world of coincidences apparently, innit?” she takes a sip from her pink cocktail. 

There is no chance for any of them to say anything else because a stern voice interrupts the conversation. 

"Thomas."

And now Farrier wishes he had a strong drink (or five). 

He isn’t prepared for this, he never really is. It isn’t out of fear, as it used to be when he was a boy and his mother would reprimand him for something silly he’d done. 

He turms around to see the tall figure of his mother, impeccably dressed and looking altogether perfect,being trailled by a shorter blonde woman dressed as impeccably and perfectly coiffed with inquisitive green eyes and a neutral expression. 

Simply looking, Farrier thinks her attractive. 

"Thomas," his mother speaks again, not even disguising her disdain when looking at his attire. She then places a hand on the blonde woman’s shoulder. "This is Emmanuelle," and without another word and a pointed look she elegantly twirls around and walks away. 

Emmanuelle clears her throat and looks between them. “Well, that certainly was awkward,” she says with a surprisingly pleasant voice. 

The other four laugh in relief, thus breaking the tension. 

“That is Clara Farrier for you,” Farrier smiles, shrugging helplessly. 

She makes a dismissive gesture with a hand, small and slender-fingered. “Not to worry, my mother is the same,” she laughs a little. “It is a pleasure to meet you, though,” she says shyly but still offers a hand to Farrier. 

“Pleasure is all mine, Emmanuelle,” he shakes her hand. “Would you like a drink?” his mother’s opinions appart, he can be charming when the situation requiers. 

She smiles and nods. “Please,” she says. 

“Perfect, see you in a tick,” he says to the others. 

He motions for the woman to lead the way before following behind her. He gives a quick glance around the place, finding some familiar faces and the satisfied smile on his mother’s face. 

He is stopped by some people in his way to the bar. Various members of John’s family he actually knows hug him effusively. He receives friendly smiles from some of his own cousins and a pat from one of his uncles that is waiting for a drink. 

“So,” the man starts, already sounding tipsy. “No uniform today because you saving it for the actual wedding?”

Emmanuelle gives him a curious look. “Uniform?” she asks. 

His uncle laughs loudly, patting Farrier a bit too hard on the shoulder. “Our boy here was in the RAF. He’s been awarded a bunch o’ times, he has,” the man gulps his newly refilled drink. "Haven’t you told your lady?"

“Oh,” she says. “I didn’t know you were famous,” she blushes, if in embarrassment or something else he doesn’t know.   
"No, I haven’t told her," he doesn’t say anything about her not being ‘his lady’ though. He clears his throat, feeling uncomfortable with the attention. “And no, uncle. I’m not wearing the uniform to the wedding,” he confesses, not making eye-contact with neither of his companions. 

His uncle frowns, huffing unhappily. “Why, boy? You look proper in it, make us all proud you do, wearing it,” he grumbles. 

It always makes Farrier angry and disappointed when his family said things like that; displaying overwhelming pride for his war achievements and his medals. Never showing any interest in other aspects of his life, as if the only important part was his participation in the war, as if he weren’t more than that. 

“Because it’s my sister’s wedding and I have a perfectly fitting suit waiting to be worn,” he says thankfully accepting his glass of scotch. 

“I don’t see what is the problem with that,” his female companion says with a small smile, taking a sip from her drink. 

His uncle is tapping insistently on the countertop with his empty glass, he’s fast approaching drunk God helps his poor wife. 

“Your sister’s wedding’s an special occasion, you should dress appropriately,” the man slurrs. "At least you’ve got yourself a lady now."

And that’s his cue to get out of there. Farrier doesn’t want to have this conversation, much less with a stubborn git that is even more stubborn when drunk. 

He doesn’t want to submit Emmanuelle to it, either. 

“I’ll see you later, uncle,” he nods at the man and with a hand on the small of Emmanuelle’s back, he guides her away. 

His uncle grumbles something Farrier doesn’t pay any mind to. 

"Interesting family you have," his companion comments softly. 

Farrier stays quiet, pondering how he should answer or if he should at all. But the woman seems genuinely interested so after another drink he replies. 

“You could call them that, yeah,” he chuckles emptily. "They are overly invested in certain aspects of my life," he says, sneering. 

They seem to be walking to the terrace, which is good because he is tired of all the chatter around him and the stuffy air in the room. Fresh air always helps him relax. 

Besides, Emmanuelle seems tense, too, and his mother has been sending them looks, as if she expected for them to declare their undying love for each other in the middle of the room, no matter if they just met. 

“Your family seem to think it of utmost importance that you have been decorated many times,” she goes to sit on the top step of the stairs going down to the garden. 

Farrier winces a little when he sits next to her; waving his companion’s worried protests off. 

“Don’t worry, love. I’m fine, it’s just my knee,” he takes a deep breath before speaking again, quieter. “And yeah, if it were in my mother’s hands I would probably wear the whole ensemble to the toilet,” he tries to chuckle but it comes out broken. 

“That is exactly how she pitched it to me,” she says, staring out into the illuminated garden. “‘My son is a war hero, Emmanuelle’ she said. ‘The Queen has awarded him more than once.’ As if that would make me want to throw myself at you,” she whispers with a wry smile. 

Farrier looks at her sideways; she is bitting her lip nervously, rolling her glass between her hands. It’s obvious she is uncomfortable and he feels guilty she’s been dragged into this. 

He sighs and looks away. “She’s always thought that to be a great selling point,” he says blankly. “For some reason she’s never considered that not everyone is interested in the same things,” he mumbles. 

She turns mortified green eyes at him. “It isn’t disinterest,” she hurries to explain. “It’s just I-“ she cuts herself off with a shake of her head. “Listen, Thomas, I know what it’s like being with someone who has been in a war and I- well I am not cut out for that, I couldn’t handle it and I am sorry. I’m sure you’re great but-“

He smiles softly, he likes her honesty and he understands her reasons. He places what he hopes is a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezes. “Do not fret yourself, Emmanuelle. I understand what you are trying to say. If I’m being honest, there are days not even I can handle myself,” he chuckles self-depreciatingly. “I know my mother can be... persuasive and hard to refuse but please don’t stress yourself,” he tries to sound reassuring. 

She breathes in relief. “Can I confess to something else?” she asks unsure. 

He nods in encouragement. “You sure can,” he says. 

She takes a deep breath before letting it out. “I am already interested in someone,” she says quickly. 

He looks at her curiously. “Then why did you agree to come?”

She shrugs listlessly and lowers her head. “My parents don’t approve of the person I chose for myself,” she swallows visibly. 

“Why not?” Farrier asks, indignant on this woman’s behalf. 

Emmanuelle raises her head to look directly at him. “Because his name used to be Rachel,” she says with defiance in her eyes, as if she were expecting to be judge. 

Farrier would never judge someone for who they fall in love with; maybe for their music and show choices or for the way they take their tea or coffee but never for who they love. 

"What’s his name now?" he asks without thinking. 

It must be the right thing to say though, because she smiles gently at him. "Sebastian," she says, softness in her voice. 

"Does he make you happy?" he asks genuinely. 

She blushes a lovley rosy color. "Yes," she says. 

"That’s all that matters," he says. "I’m sorry you had to come, love," he apologizes. 

"Oh no, nothing of that, it isn’t that bad. Honestly, I’m enjoying it," she winks cheekily. 

He laughs; he is quite enjoying himself, all in all it’s been a nice night. 

"So," he starts not really knowing how to continue. "Do you believe in love at first sight?" he ends up asking, unaware that that was going to come out. 

She chokes on the sip she’d just taken. Farrier’s stomach knots in mortification. 

"Oh shite, I’m sorry," he hurries to say as he pats her back to help her. 

She waves him away, taking one deep breath, releasing it slowly. "It’s okay," she clears her throat to rid it of the remaining hoarseness. "I wasn’t expecting that question, that’s all," she gulps the rest of her drink. 

"Yeah, I wasn’t expecting to ask it either," he chuckles embarrassedly. 

She stays quiet for a moment, meditating her answer. "But to answer you, yes. I do believe in love at first sight. Maybe this will sound silly or naive but I believe that when it happens it means you have found the person you are meant to be with," she says with this faraway look, maybe reminiscing about her own experience. "Anyway," she shakes her head to refocus again. "Why you ask?" she blinks her green eyes at him. 

Farrier swirls the dregs of his drink around. "I think it’s happened to me," he says, admitting for the first time he may have feelings... serious feelings, for the blonde bus rider. 

"Then why does your mother has the impression she needs to pair you up with someone?" Emmanuelle cocks an eyebrow. 

"The people she’s been introducing me are women, when she perfectly knows I prefer men," he picks at his nails, it makes him uncomfortable talking about this. Specially with one of those women. 

"Oh," she says eloquently. "What a coincidence," she laughs ironically, elbowing him playfully. 

He snorts his own laugh. "Would you believe me if I told you today has been a day for coincidences?" Farrier says. 

"They do happen," she shrugs. "So I don’t see why I wouldn’t believe you."

"They’ve never happened to me," he admits absentmindedly. "So, just to stay safe, would you want to come to the wedding with me?" he asks, not really minding anymore if she says yes. 

She giggles and smiling sheepishly she shakes her head. "I rather not. We shouldn’t give your mother the wrong idea. Besides, I already have plans," she says shyly, looking away. 

He nods in understanding. "You will have to introduce me to your lucky man sometime," he says with a wink. 

"Only if you introduce me to yours," she returns the wink. 

He exhales wistfully. "If he were mine, I would, love," he says. 

She places a comforting hand on his arm. "He can be. What is stopping you?" she quarries. 

"That I don’t even know his name," he admits. 

She huffs exasperatedly. "Christ, men are always so dense. You can ask him, Thomas," there is a ‘da’ in there somewhere. 

He chuckles and stands up, swallowing his wince this time, and offers her a hand that she gratefully takes. "I sure will, if I ever see him again," and his heart twists somewhat painful at the mere thought of never seeing his beau again. 

She smiles kindly at him. "Don’t be silly, of course you will see him again," she assures him. 

Farrier doesn’t know how soon those words would come true. 

When they go back inside they find that Anselm, his mother’s drunk brother, had to be driven home by said woman after he tripped and showered aunt Shoszanna in brandy and she all but slapped him with her purse; that’s always been too heavy. 

Farrier and Charlotte used to stipulate about what the woman kept in there. They never got around to finding out, though. 

So now the party is mostly composed by John’s family which means the true fun has just begun. 

Remi tries to teach him how to tango (opperative word ‘tries’). 

Emmanuelle and his sister turn out to be quite good at it and, for Farrier’s ego, John finds he has two left feet, so no problem. 

"Jesus Johnny, is that what they’ve been teaching you in dancing lessons?" Petra, who is Charlotte’s childhood friend, mocks the man. "I hope you don’t go stepping on poor Charlie’s feet in the wedding.”

John blushes and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m considering hiring a double for that part,” he chuckles. 

They all laugh. Charlie pats his cheek. “The only one who could double as you is that Scotish cousin of yours,” she places a dramatic hand over her heart and widens her eyes in mock-horror. "You know I love him but please, don’t subject me to that,” she bats her eyes and pouts. 

Farrier doesn’t know what they are talking about so he raises a questioning eyebrow at Remi. 

"Oh honey, you should have seen our cousin dance while wearing a kilt," she giggles. “God knows we were all left traumatized,” she explains. 

Emmanuelle looks worriedly at him when he winces so she discreetly motions for Farrier to sit down. "You look a bit winded, maybe you should sit for a moment," she says, grabbing her drink back up and offers it to him. 

He smiles gratefully at her before looking to Remi again. “Is that the cousin you wanted to introduce me?" he asks, massaging his knee gingerly after taking a seat on a sofa. 

"That one, yes. I think you two would be perfect together," the redhead says. 

Farrier barely manages to hold back the scoff; ‘perfect together’ yeah, he’s heard that before. 

Every time his mother introduced him to a woman she said they were perfect for him. Funny. None of them lasted more than two months. Except one named Angelina, a Spanish lady who actually made the effort of understanding him and his issues and tried to help him but in the end she gave up, too. Now she’s married to a lovely German man named Gustaf and they have three children together. 

"He will be at the wedding," John says, continuing with the conversation. "Won’t he?”

Remi nods excitedly. “Yes! He just came back from Scotland and he did find his tuxedo so, perfect," she claps, her eyes held a dangerous gleam that Farrier isn’t sure he likes. 

Then she walks toward the table where the speakers are and plugs her phone on and some upbeat song starts playing. 

Charlotte comes to sit next to him, she takes his hand and squeezes. "Tommy," she speaks softly, "he isn’t like the others. He is quite nice, he shares the family’s craziness but that only adds to the charm," she winks. She is referring to the famed cousin of John’s and of course she knows her brother well enough to know what he’d be thinking. 

Farrier huffs a small laugh. "Mother would be thrilled with being related twice with the same family," he says. 

His sister rolls her eyes. "She would stop trying to partner you up if you found someone," she says matter of factly. "Plus it would make her happy to see you happy," she adds, offhanded. 

"Yeah, right she will," he scoffs. 

Charlotte slaps him on the arm. "What’s that tone for? She loves you, of course she would want you happy," she says scoldingly. 

Farrier doesn’t answer immediately. Instead he watches Petra try to show Remi how to polka dance with John most likely filming it on his phone. Hopefully he captures the moment when his redhead cousin tripped, bringing the other woman down with her; they fall in what’s considered a compromising position, leaving both girls red-faced and John in stitches. Remi had been holding a cup so now they were both dripping something pink. 

Farrier swallows his laughter, turning to look again at his sister. "Charlie, you know what the parentals care about and that isn’t my happiness," he says seriously. 

Charlie sighs sadly. "Tommy, you know that’s not true," she answers quietly. "They care."

He softness and places a hand on her cheek. "Charlie, it’s okay," he says, implying that it really was. 

She looks at him sadly. "Even so, you do deserve to have someone," she says in a small, honest voice. 

He places a gentle kiss on her temple."it isn’t a question of deserve or not," he replies. 

"At least let us introduce you John’s cousin. If you don’t like him you don’t have to see him again," she smiles. 

He lets his head fall back, exhaling slowly. "Fine, why not," he gives in. 

She smiles widely. "You won’t regret it," she promises. 

The rest of the night is filled with amenable conversation and laughter; no one tries to teach anyone how to dance again. Instead Emile, John’s older brother, brings a deck of cards out and they play a game with very... random bets. 

Like when Charlotte loses and therefore she has to dance and sing ‘Like a Virgin’ and Farrier has to make a physical effort to not laugh. Much. 

Remi is challenged to communicate with hand gestures for the rest of the evening. 

Emmanuelle surprises them all by winning her round, thus sparing herself whichever dare awaited her. 

However, Farrier isn’t as lucky. 

"Well, future brother in law, your luck has ran out it seems.” Emile grins like the cat who caught the canary. 

Farrier sets himself in preparation for the words of doom. "Apparently so,” he says. 

John clears his throat. “I, as the groom of honor, command you to sing a song in the wedding’s karaoke,” he declares, drunkenly emulating a royal tone. 

Farrier’s stomach drops. "I don’t sing,” he says. 

Charlotte rolls her eyes. “Tommy, it’s just a karaoke,” she says with a bit of condescension in her tone. “Besides, you won’t be alone. Another had the misfortune of getting this same dare,” she informs him nonchalantly. 

Farrier wishes the earth would open and swallow him whole. Charlie has a knack for pulling him into trouble. “But why should it be on your wedding?” he whines, embarrassingly.   
“You told me you would give me anything I wanted,” his sister points out, satisfied smirk in place. 

“Don’t come complaining when your guests’ eardrums explode,” he grumbles. 

“Oh please, you say that as if you weren’t a decent singer,” she points out. 

He sighs in defeat, already knowing it’s pointless to continue arguing this. 

Farrier drags his exhausted, happy self home at some ungodly hour, not before making sure Emmanuelle got a ride home and her promising to letting him know when she arrived. 

He’d enjoyed himself. It was an interesting night; what with all the coincidences, meeting Emmanuelle and the challenge he now has to see through. 

Farrier has to admit to himself that he’s curious about that cousin everyone keeps mentioning. Maybe he would be a better match than the matches his mother has tried to make. 

The brunette plops onto his bed, not bothering with changing into pajamas. He sighs into his pillow, maybe John’s cousin can help him forget that blonde guy he may be in love with. 

Maybe this time he can have something that finally lasts. 

Then the day of the wedding arrives and life gives a 360 degrees turn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello gens! I hope life is going as well as it can in these strange times. 
> 
> So here you have a new chapter of this fic I never thought I’d write but I’m glad I did. I don’t really know with these characters, I swear. They just sublevated and took the reigns of the plot in their own hands. I hope you can still enjoy it. 
> 
> I also want to say that if any of you is going through a hard time, that you are not alone. We may not know each other but I’m here all the same. 
> 
> Anyway, keep yourselves safe and leave a ‘hello’ in the comments if you like.

Unexpected

Farrier wakes up abruptly. His heart is pounding in his ears, his breathing loud enough to be heard from the next room over and the sweat is sticking his clothes to his body making him shiver. 

His knee is burning, burning, burning. It hurts; excruciatingly so. Sometimes he whishes they had amputated his leg so he could be done with it. 

But no, no. At the time he hadn’t been able to make decisions regarding his health therefore the responsibility fell on his family. His father had dismissed the doctors’ recommendations, arguing his son was strong enough to stand a little pain. 

‘Little pain my arse,” he thinks bitterly. This had cost him countless fights with the pater, who’d expected him to stoically accept it because he was a veteran and should behave as such. 

Sometimes, in his moments of darkness, he wishes he could interchange places with his father and see if he can get through patches of pain ‘like men do; stoically and without complaint.’

Farrier now has to scoff at that as he nearly stumbles out of bed and limps to his ensuite; he doesn’t like medication but right now he needs some. 

Today specially. He can’t have his injury playing out in his sister’s wedding. 

Beckett walks quietly into the room, for all his aloofness the cat sure knows when his comfort and love are needed. He jumps onto the counter against which Farrier is leaning and starts purring against his chest. 

Farrier smiles fondly, petting his furry friend. 

"Thanks chap " he murmurs into the cat’s body. Nothing better than pet love for him to feel a little better. General... catness aside, Becket is the best. 

After taking his doze and more cuddles from his friend, he throws on a jumper, deciding to go for a walk. He isn’t going back to sleep so he thinks a walk would do him good, it’s five in the a m anyway so he may as well. 

So he makes his hobbly way to the small park near his building. It’s a nice, quiet place not frequented by many people, to Farrier’s comfort. 

Which is also good for the wildlife. There are always a lot of birds like ducks and pigeons and small mamals like squirrels. Farrier has always enjoyed their quiet company. 

They never judge him nor make intrusive questions about his experience in the war. They don’t scowl nor roll their eyes. They just... exist with him. 

He sits on a bench underneath the wide foliage of a strong, ancient tree, which soft rustling helps Farrier relax. 

He loves watching the sunrise. He loves watching how the sky starts to alight with the waking colors of the sun; it looked beautiful and it felt special to witness this; a part of nature waking up and the other going to sleep. It’s sad that people don’t take the time to admire it. That only makes it more sacred for Farrier: him alone being privy to this amazing moment. 

Apparently today someone else had his same idea, though. Farrier can hear footsteps coming nearer. 

He takes a peek to whomever decided to come to the park at this hour and almost falls from the bench.

His heart skips a thousand beats because there, walking calmly and carefree in the rising sun, is the person he thought he’d never see again. 

The blonde seems to glow with the light and he looks... serene and simply beautiful. 

Then the man spots him and a smile breaks on his face; rivaling the brightness of the sun rays. He makes a B line for him. “Hey, you!” he greets cheerfully, plunking down next to Farrier. 

“H-hey,” he stutters, suddenly feeling shy. 

“It’s good to see you’re better,” the man says, still smiling. 

Farrier rolls his eyes. “It’s been two weeks since you last saw me,” he tries not to sound too bitingly. He also has a reminder of the day he’d met Alex and the man had said similar- if not the same- words. 

He isn’t as successful as he wanted though because his companion blushes sheepishly and lowers his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-“

Farrier feels guilty, it hadn’t been his intention to make the other feel bad. So he places a hand on the other’s shoulder, interrupting him mid-sentence. “Hey, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. It’s just,” he drags a hand down his face. “It’s been a rough night,” he finally says. 

The blonde- Farrier seriously needs to ask for his name- looks back up at him. God, his eyes are so blue and so full of concern. “Oh, would you like to talk about it?” he asks hesitant. 

Farrier thinks about it. Talking about what aills him could be cathartic but he’s reticent. It isn’t as if there’s really going to be anything between them, there is not even guarantee that they’d see each other again. So he decides to be honest. “I, ah. I was RAF, when the war and I-" ten years and it’s still difficult. Probably it always will be. "Let’s just say I didn’t come out unscathed," he settles on. 

His companion’s expression doesn’t change, he looks somewhat mortified. "Your episodes two weeks ago," he says softly, nodding to himself in understanding. 

Farrier looks back to the pond. "Yeah, that accident reminded me of my own," he says quietly. "It happens sometimes."

They stay silent for a moment, staring at the light reflecting of off the water. Farrier doesn’t feel as tense as he feared he would by talking about it. No, he feels somewhat unburden. 

He likes it. He likes how he feels with this practically stranger. For some reason he feels he can be open with the man, more so, he wants to. He wants to share himself with the blonde without fear of judgement and rejection. He’s never felt like this with anyone before. 

It’s also scary. But jesus, he’s getting ahead of himself. They don’t even know each other’s names, for god’s sake. 

"So," the Scot breaks the silence. "Is that why you are here this early?" he asks gently. 

Farrier sighs, rubbing his knee unconsciously. "An old injury playing up," he admits without wanting to divulge more. 

"Hmm, I see," the blonde glances down at Farrier’s knee. "Did walking help?"

Farrier smiles self-consciously. "Not really. It did help to clear my head though," he says. 

The blonde’s mouth twitches as if he wanted to say something but in the end chose not to. 

Farrier raises an eyebrow, trying to implicitly prompt the man to speak his mind. 

It doesn’t work. When the man speaks it’s obvious that that isn’t what he was going to say. "So, what do you do?" he asks, sounding awkward. "You still RAF?"

For some reason the brunette finds it endearing, the awkwardness of his bench companion. "Oh no, I’m something less flashy now. I’m an accountant," he chuckles softly. 

The other smirks, cocking an eyebrow. "Oh not as ‘flashy’ huh? I bet everything seems pretty lame compared to being up there," he looks wistfully up at the sky. 

Farrier’s chest constricts, he’d be foolish to deny he misses flying though he wouldn’t want to do it again. If taking comercial flights longer than an hour makes him feel anxious, he doesn’t want to find what flying his own plane would entail. 

"Yes well, after flying planes in the war for 6 years I’d take lame anytime," he whispers. 

"Shite, I- ah," the blonde stutters, embarrassed. 

Farrier musters a feeble smile. "Hey, it’s okay. Please don’t fret yourself," he bumps his shoulder against the other’s. "Why don’t you tell me what do you do?" he finally asks something he’s been curious about since the begining. 

The blonde cards a hand through his hair. "Aeronautical engineering," he laughs a little in self-awareness. 

Farrier gives him an incredulous look. "Seriously?" he laughs because, seriously?

His companion shrugs nonchalantly. "That’s what my syllabus says," he snarks. 

The older man laughs in delight. "Well look at that," he grins. "You work with aircrafts and I fly them. What a pair," he says absentmindedly. Only realizing what he said a second later, when he feels the atmosphere change. 

"I-"

A cellphone ringing interrupts Farrier; mercifully given he isn’t sure what exactly it is he was going to say.

The blonde jumps in surprise, the low tone sounding too loud in the silence of the morning, and he hurries to pull a (pink?) device from his pocket. "Damn," he mutters, looking at the caller id. "Nina took my phone again."

The phone has stopped ringing and for a beat Farrier thinks they might get back to their conversation but then the overly sweet music starts again. Farrier only catches a line of the song before the phone is answered. 

At the end I wanna be standing at the begining with you. 

That robs a sorrowful smile from the brunette. How would it feel like? To have someone willing to stay with you through thick and thin. 

"Hello love," the blonde answers a bit reluctantly but with a small smile. 

Farrier’s hope crumbles, sets  
itself on fire and falls down a cliff. 

"I’m sorry. I went on a walk, I’ll be home soon," the other goes on, laughing brightly and with his dimples on full display and he is so beautiful it hurts. “- of course I wouldn’t stand you up in the wedding Nina, don’t be silly," he rolls his eyes fondly. 

Farrier swallows his heart back down. What were the chances a lad like this was single? Or that if he were, that he would be interested in him? Having a full-on flashback isn’t the best presentation card, after all. 

So Farrier stands up, dusts himself and pantomimes  
a ‘goodbye’ that the other replies with a faint smile and a wave. 

Only when he is opening his door he realizes... he didn’t ask for his name. Again. 

Farrier is putting together the last details of his attire under the scrutinizing stare of Beckett. He knows there is a high chance of his mother disinheriting him or staging his murder. 

Because he is wearing a dark-purple button-down with a white bowtie to go with his blue suit.   
Something his mother wouldn’t approve of. 

When he’d come back from his walk he got to working; paperwork for his job, cleaning his apartment, exercise himself to near exhaustion. 

He had, for the most part, managed to push his encounter with the blonde from his mind. 

Farrier hadn’t really wanted to eat but Beckett had put his... metaphorical paw down, so he ate. His cat had supervised his eating of breakfast and lunch like his Headmistress used to supervise his penmanship when he was in grade school. 

The cat is scarier so of course he ate his veggies. 

Then his mother had phoned him to remind him he has to arrive earlier to the church and that he should be on his bestest behavior. 

And a petty, vengeful part of him wanted to spite her. So he’s dressed like this, knowing his sister won’t mind and that’s all he cares about. 

He had even gotten Beckett his own fancy bowtie. 

He took a selfie of himself and his furry friend wearing their ties and sends it to Erik and Canfield and he feels damn satisfied with himself when that gets him clapping and laughing emojis from his friends. As well as comments like ‘I won’t take flowers to your grave’ or ‘your mom’s probably going to throw her heel at you’ and the sort. 

Contrary to what his mother has lead on, he has absolutly no intention of ruining this special day for his sister. He has even put his knee pad on. Extra armor never hurt nobody. 

He looks good. He feels good. Nothing will spoil this for him. He’s going to have fun and laugh and smile and it will be alright. 

So he leaves food and water for Beckett and god, he asks for an uber. 

He doesn’t use the app. Unless it is extremely necessary. However, this time he wants to be safe. 

After saying goodbye to his best friend and sending a quick prayer to whomever manages upstairs so his mother doesn’t shoot him right then and there, on he goes into the fray. 

Charlotte looks beautiful, not that she wasn’t already, but today she has a special kind of glow. Her dress seems to be a second skin and her makeup is light and perfect and the smile she’s wearing could be made of a million diamonds. Farrier’s heart fills with warmth. 

They spend an hour in the church’s garden taking photos. The photographer pulls them into every position he could think of (including a shot of John trying to give Farrier a piggyback ride). There are even a couple of their mother with an actual smile on her face. 

(Spoiler alert: she doesn’t throw a heel at him. Nor she tries to quietly murder him). 

He isn’t an overly religious person therefore he hasn’t been in this church often but he can admit it’s beautiful; high-ceilings, tasteful art on the walls, polished floors and wooden benches and it’s airy and spacious enough not to feel crowded. 

The flowers adorning the hallways give the chamber a fresh, pleasant smell; Farrier had been dreading it, considering his sensitive nose, so he is glad he won’t start sneezing. 

At some point there is a bit of a squable when Petra’s partner is nowhere to be seen and the other bridesmaids were starting to panic. They were trying to find a replacement as to not delay the ceremony. 

They were considering going to one of John’s cousins to do so. Remi (who is wearing a light-pink tuxedo) readily volunteers herself as tribute. Though to her disappointment the original man ends up arriving; frazzled and tie knotted wrong but at least he arrived. 

Farrier has to smile at the forlorn expression on the redhead’s face. 

Charlotte, being the contrary child she is, decided she didn’t need their father to walk her down the aisle because, as she had put it: she chose John by herself, for herself and with all of herself. So she can perfectly walk herself down to the altar accompanied by ‘Buon Giorno Principessa’ because a) she loves the film and b) it’s the first song John played her in piano and c) it’s beautiful. 

There was no arguing with her about it, by god mother had tried. But it is Charlotte’s wedding and if she wanted to walk in with a Stones’ song she may do just that. 

The ceremony is beautiful; the pastor speaks about being truthful to each other and about walking together even if they each have their own path. It’s simple and wise and Farrier agrees with it. 

The couple’s vows are equally beautiful; honest, realistic and even a little funny. Many assistants wipped a few tears from their faces. Even his parents, surprising as that is. 

When all is said and done, the newlyweds practically pull each other out the church between delighted giggles and beaming smiles. The guests follow at a more leisurely pace. 

Farrier lets the multitude get out before getting out himself; as he’s said before, he doesn’t work well with crowds. 

Though before he can take a step forward, an arm slings itself around his shoulders and he is being pulled against someone. "Oi, little cousin. Why you looking loopsided there," Arthur, one of his older cousins, drawls. 

Farrier rolls his eyes, trying to push away from the awkward embrace. "Really, Arthur? That’s not funny," he snarks. 

His cousin snorts and pulls him back in to ruffle his hair. “Oh Tommy, don’t be such a party-pooper," he laughs. "Our beloved Lottie just got herself married!”

Huffing and grumbling, Farrier finally manages to separate himself from Arthur, straightening his clothes. "Is there a point to all this?” he asks annoyed. 

His cousin shrugs, with his hands in the pants’ pockets. “You are getting left behind now,” he says too casual to actually be so. 

Farrier opens his mouth to say probably something improper for a Church when thankfully, or not, someone interrupts. 

"Oh. My. God. You!” a feminine voice calls out. 

Farrier’s head whipps to the side in surprise. There, glidding towards him in her purple tuxedo, is Irene Collins. 

When she stops next to him, she loops her arm through his and beams up at him. 

He clears his throat, masking his confused surprise and beams down at her. “Hey love, you look wonderful in that tux," he winks at her, bending to mash their cheeks in a mockery of a kiss. 

She blushes, letting out a silly giggle and gives him her own onceover. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” she grins. 

A whistle reminds him that they still have company. Farrier turns his head to find his smirking cousin still there. The man held a satisfied look as if the fact Irene was here, and apparently they were together, had been his doing after reminding Farrier of his being left behind. 

“Well damn, I take it back cuz, congrats." Arthur slaps him on the back a bit too hard before walking away.

Farrier sighs in relief. "Thanks for not calling my bluff," he smiles. 

She pats his shoulder and returns the smile. "Not a problem, you seemed... uncomfortable. Besides, I wasn’t expecting to see you here, I was surprised," she says. 

"Can say the same about you," he rubs the back of his neck. "Charlotte is my little sister." Farrier confesses. 

Irene gets this glint in her eyes that Farrier can’t pinpoint and then smirks slowly. "Oh so you are ‘that’ Thomas, huh?" 

He raises an eyebrow at her reaction. "Yeah, I am ‘that’ Thomas," he says in confusion. 

Irene shakes her head and says something in Italian before starting to walk, bringing him along. 

They make their way out to finally get to the reception, arms still linked. There are a lot less people than before; some Farrier doesn’t know and others that are common friends of John and Charlie, probably waiting for their rides. 

"So," he starts, "you know John?"

Irene snorts so hard Farrier is afraid she might have broken something. "Know John, do I. Oh please, we grew up together," she says, in a tone that said ‘how did you not know.’

"Oh," he answers, drawing a blank as to what else to say. 

"Oh honey," she laughs, bumping shoulders with his. "The guy is my cousin!" she explains. 

Farrier looks at her as if she just reveal a secret of state and not a simple fact as a familial relation. 

"Oh," he says again. Lord but where were his words?

Irene huffs in what he thinks is fond exasperation. "How eloquent," she tuts and tugs at his arm to pull him along. "Come on, handsome. We have a party to get to."

"How is it, if you are John’s family why haven’t I met you before?" Farrier asks Irene. 

She is driving them to the venue and more than once he’d feared for his life. Christ but the woman is an agressive driver; the brunette may have left some holes in the upholstery after too many close turns. 

"I’ve been studying a Master in Italy for the past year and a half," she says, not taking her eyes from the road. "And I was told you lived in America for a time so there you go," she shrugs. 

Farrier nods. "Right, what are you studying?" he asks with real interest. 

"Corporate Law," she answers, a satisfied little smile on her lips. 

Farrier lets out an impressed whistle. "You don’t look like a lawyer,” he says teasingly. 

Irene snorts. "You wouldn’t be the first to think so,” she says, seemingly not bothered by it. 

She doesn’t ask about him, probably knows already thanks to his sister. 

"So, is Remi the sister that got you into wearing the obnoxious attire?" he finally asks something that’s been playing on his mind. 

Irene smiles the sort of fond-annoyed smile only a sibling can pull from you. "You know her then?"

He nods, heart in his throat at a slightly sharp turn. "Just met her last weekend, actually," he replies. "Should have figured you were related considering she told me the same thing about introducing me to a cousin," he adds, off-handed to see if she ventures some information about the alleged cousin. 

Irene’s eyes get the same glint from before. "She did, did she not? Well, you know what they say; great minds think alike," and she shrugs nonchalantly without revealing a peep about her cousin. 

Farrier sighs and chooses not to outright ask her. " She’s a- an interesting woman," he says instead, talking about Remi. 

His companion laughs in delight. "That is underplaying it," she says. 

"She tried to teach me how to tango," he chuckles, wincing inwardly when he remembers it. 

Irene cringes. "Lordy, I’m sorry," she sounds sympathetic. "I can only guess how that went."

"She does that often, I take it?" Farrier chuckles. 

"Ha! Yes, she does," she makes a gesture of trepetition with her hand. "She was in a relationship with an Argentinian a couple of years back and she taught Emi to dance. She’s been trying to teach anyone that’s foolish enough to agree ever since," she grins as she delivers the jab. 

"Oh yeah? I was definitely foolish enough to agree," he lets out a single laugh, not taking offense. 

Another sharp turn and Farrier is sure his internal organs are permanently scrambled. 

"But now tell me, where did you leave that man of yours?" Farrier asks, he isn’t sure why. 

Irene harrumphs, rolling her eyes. "Silly bugger had to go and planned himself a trip to Spain," she shakes her head. "Said he had the ticket since last year." 

Farrier chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "Spain is a nice place. ‘Sides, I would choose to take myself away from this wedding if it weren’t my sister’s," he admits. 

Irene gives him a sideways glance, lower lip between her teeth. "You aren’t close to your family?” she asks uncharacteristically tentative. 

Farrier lets out a breath. "Something like that," he says quietly. 

She places a hand on his thigh and squeezes. "You have us now," she says earnestly. 

He smiles thankfully, patting her hand. "It would be my pleasure," he says, the earnestness in his voice surprises him. 

Maybe he doesn’t need to be paired up with some mysterious cousin to belong to this family. They did seem to have adopted him by default when Charlotte started dating John. 

Charlotte jumps into his arms when Farrier has but a foot inside the place. He laughs and spins her in his arms. 

"Oh Tommy, I can’t believe this really happened," she giggles like a little girl in Christmas. "I married John."

He hugs her tighter. "Yes, love, you did. I am so happy for you," he presses against her hair. 

She hugs tighter, too. "I want you to be happy, too." Charlie whispers into his neck. 

He smiles fondly. "I am happy," he says. Maybe if he says it one more time he would start believing it. 

After one last squeeze and pressing a kiss to her cheek, he lets go. His little sister smiles softly at him and his heart could burst with the love and pride he feels for her. 

"By the way, Tommy. You look quite dashing today," his sister gives him an approving nod. 

Farrier smirks slowly and laughs a low, sarcastic laugh. "Thought I was never ‘dashing’ Charlie."

She rolls her eyes. "Alright, you should go find your table. I think you are going to enjoy it," she winks before turning to greet the next guest in a clear dismissal. 

He chuckles and with a shake of his head, Farrier walks off.

To his horror, or his delight, his seat is in Irene and Remi’s table. This screams trouble. 

Sharing the accommodations besides the sisters were three other people: a blonde, stunning woman, a man with a shaven head and a redhead man. Farrier, unsurprisingly, doesn’t know them. 

Remi grins and jumps from her chair to try smother him in a hug. "Oh! This is just what I was hoping for!" she sounds elated. 

"Is it? I’m sure you pestered poor John to have me sit with you," he jests. 

She makes a dismissing gesture with the hand after she’s pulled back. "Went through him like wild-fire," she snarks. 

"Yeah, I wouldn’t doubt that, pet,” he remarks. "You should have taken advantage of it and snag Petra, as well."

The woman blushes, highlighting her freckles. She turns away, flustered. "She is a bridesmaid," she says as all explanation. It’s obvious she quite likes the polish woman, it’s adorable. Farrier hopes she takes the risk to go for her. 

Remi motions for him to come sit. "Introductions are in order," she says cheerfully, clapping once. ""This is Carina," she points to the blonde woman, who smiles and waves. "This is Enrico, Carina and Jack’s older brother," she points to the man with the shaven head. "And this is our little brother with the less exciting name, Bruce," she finishes the introductions. 

Bruce rolls his eyes. "I’m named after Batman,” he says with all seriousness as he shakes Farrier’s hand. 

The brunette sniggers, taking his seat next to Irene. He just notice the empty chair. "Is Jack the one missing?” he asks, motioning at the space. 

The other five groan which Farrier doesn’t understand. 

"Indeed he is," Carina replies. "He had some trouble or another but he’d be arriving at some point. Or so he said." she doesn’t seem to believe her own words. 

Dinner goes great. Conversation flows surprisingly effortless; Irene tells the rest the story of how Farrier and she had met. Farrier flushes and tries to drown in his glass of scotch, to the delight of his companions. He learns that Enrico is divorced and has twin girls named Angelica and Francesca. He shows Farrier pictures; two identical girls with the blackest black hair and bluest eyes with huge smiles in their little faces, surrounded by a litter of puppies. Farrier feels a pang of longing at the prospect of something he will never have. Something he’d never considered he would want. 

He learns that neither Carina nor Enrico nor Bruce live in England. Carina is studying a doctorate in something economics in Germany where she lives with her partner. Enrico is a stock-broker and lives in Switzerland because there is where his daughters live. And Bruce... Bruce is a total nerd who is into everything science-fictional. He is studying something mathematical that Farrier can’t be bother to understand. 

The missing member of the table doesn’t arrive for dinner. Carina looks increasingly dismayed, constantly checking her phone. Remi pats her shoulder with an eye-roll, pushing a glass of something colorful towards the blonde. 

Now that he pays more attention, he sees that the three he just met are also wearing tuxedoes in crazy colors. 

He smirks to himself. "Is... Jack the one supposed to wear the burgundy tux?" he asks, remembering the call Rolly got. 

Carina nods. "How do you know though?" she raises an eyebrow. 

Irene speaks before he can say anything. "He heard me talking on the phone with dear Jackie," she hides a smile against the rim of her glass. 

"Rolly, the tailor, was scandalized thinking that some lad wanted a tux in a color like that." Farrier laughs. 

Enrico cackles. "God knows it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’s worn."

Somehow, without even knowing this Jackie, he doesn’t have a doubt about the veracity of that statement. 

After some time the lights dim and there are Charlotte and John about to dance their first dance, which of course has to be ‘Strangers in the Night’ and Farrier feels like this is moving too fast. They look so happy in love and Farrier feels grateful that his sister has found a good man that would treat her right. 

Then it comes the dance with father and mother respectively and Farrier decides to go get himself a drink. Fortunately he doesn’t have to dance in front of everyone. 

Even though he’s been enjoying himself, he is also starting to feel tired. 

"Hey, you!" Emile calls cheerfully, coming closer and patting him on the shoulder. "How you enjoying the party?" he slurs a little. 

"Can’t complain," he answers, amused. "Would ask you the same but I think I know the answer already," he smirks. 

Emile laughs loudly and slings his arm around his shoulder and jostles him gently. "I love weddings, mate. Specially when it’s a family member’s,” he says, pulling him towards the bar. 

Farrier huffs. "I’m not really fond of weddings. Never had a great time in one," he mumbles. 

"That’s because you haven’t been in a Collins’ wedding before," the man winks at Farrier. "Now order yourself a drink for your karaoke gig is coming up." 

Farrier had all but forgotten about it. 

"If you were hoping you’d get out of it, you were sorely mistaken,” the other man laughs, apparently having read his mind. 

Farrier lets out a long suffering sigh and orders himself a drink. 

Farrier is pacing nervously behind the small stage; he doesn’t want to do this, he isn’t particularly fond of doing things in public. He always feels... inadequate. Especially when his family is present. 

But alas, it is a dare and he’s never shied away from a dare. There is also the detail that someone else is supposed to be singing with him but is nowhere to be seen. 

Farrier blows a raspberry and runs his hands through his already messy hair. "The fuck am I doing,” he mumbles to himself. 

"You are about to serenade us all with that deep voice of yours."

Farrier has flown spitfires into war zones, has fallen from the sky inside an aircraft on fire, has heard the sound of machine gums and seen people meet their end in gruesome ways so   
he had thought he couldn’t be scared anymore. And yet, the jump he just gave at the unexpected voice speakes a different story. 

"Jesus Christ, d’you want to give me a heart-attack at your own wedding?” he snaps, turning to see a smirking John leaning against a column. 

The groom rolls his eyes. “Good thing Emile is a doctor, then.”

“Don’t tell me you are the one who’s going to sing with me?" he jokes, putting himself back together. 

“Ha, no," John chuckles, stepping away from the column, coming closer. “It’s my wedding, today is for others to embarrass themselves, not me," he grins cheekily. 

"Oh so you’ve come to tell me I will be the only one to embarrass myself? Seeing as your mysterious friend isn’t here,” he points out. The thought that this could be a joke of some sort keeps nagging at him. 

John sighs, rubbing his forehead. “The idiot’s car broke down. Though last I knew they were finally on their way," hiis new brother in law frowns, doubting that statement. 

Farrier’s lips quirk up. "If you make me sing some silly pop song I’m afraid I would have to kill you," he says seriously. 

"You wouldn’t do that to Charlotte," the man counterattacks, sure of his words. 

Farrier looks upwards, in a clear gesture of asking for patience. "Couldn’t I just sing a single and be done with it?" he asks a bit pleadingly. 

John wags a finger at him, there’s this glint in his eyes that reminds Farrier of Irene and he isn’t sure he likes. "Nope. I mean, what would be the fun in that? Besides, it’s your sister who asked you to do this," he shrugs nonchalantly. 

Farrier closes his eyes and breaths out in defeat. "I am so going to regret this," he mutters. 

John just smiles like the cat who got the cream. 

He had no idea. 

-

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you have been in a Collins wedding you already know that we like to make them fun. So we saved for today a special event," Emile is manning the mic as a natural contest show host; all smiles and hand gestures. "Two people who lost a game were challenged to sing us some karaoke and what better occasion than this, right? So now enjoy, gens," and with a wink he jumps from the stage as John pushes Farrier onto it. 

Lights dim, the crowd cheers. Farrier doesn’t fix his gaze in any of the faces, his hands shaking and his collar is starting to feel too tight. 

His duet partner is still nowhere to be seen. 

Then an overly sweet melody he recognizes immediately for having heard it that morning starts to play. 

Oh. Shi-

"We were strangers starting out on a journey. Never dreaming, what we’d have to go through. Now here we are and I’m suddenly standing at the beginning with you."

Farrier will be forever thankful for the magical thing that is autopilot because it gets his brain into gear and he starts singing without making a conscious effort. 

Because there’s a corner of his mind where he is in a loop of ‘hollyshithollyshithollyshit’ ‘heishereheishereheishere’ and ‘waitwaitwait bus guy is John’s cousin? And-

"No one told me I was going to find you. Unexpected, what you did to my heart. When I lost hope, you were there to remind me this is the start," Farrier sings. 

And then there the blonde- Jackie - stands. In front of him, with those big blue eyes of his and they are singing together. 

"And life is a road that I wanna keep going. Love is a river, I wanna keep flowing. Life is a road, now and forever, wonderful journey. I’ll be there when the world stops turning, I’ll be there when the storm is through. At the end I wanna be standing at the beginning with you."

God, it feels as if they were promising all these to each other; staring into the other’s eyes, forgetting they have an audience. They sing with all their hearts and Farrier wants in equal parts to run away and stay. 

Because here this man is, the man he’s been pathetically in love with, without even knowing his name. And he is wearing his burgundy tux and his hair is a mess and he sings surprisingly well and there is a shimer in his eyes and Farrier wants to kiss him and-

The song ends and the guests erupt in applause and cheers. The blonde is looking softly at him and Farrier- he jumps from the stage before he can panic in front of everyone. 

The venue the party was taking place at was big; it had a parking-lot, and a building and the rest was a garden with a fountain and a handful of benches littered around the green space. It was quiet and peaceful. 

Farrier is currently sat in one of the farthest benches from the building. 

His hands are still shaking and his nerves are still buzzing but the fresh air is helping him relax. 

‘What is wrong with me?’ Farrier asks himself out-loud, placing his head in his hands and tugging at his hair. 

"Nothing."

He gives a particular hard tug at the unexpected voice. "Jesus, what is it with people trying to give me a heart-attack today?" he mumbles, inhaling deeply to try calm down his already racing heart. 

"Sorry," the blonde says, sheepishly sitting next to him. 

The brunette closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. “It’s alright," he tries to sound composed still his voice cracks a little. 

They stay quiet for a time, searching for the right words to express what they wanted. The air between them feels charged with something Farrier can’t define. 

Not that he gets the chance to try anyway, seeing as his mother is charging towards them looking stern even in her daughter’s wedding day. 

“Thomas,” she says in the same disappointed tone she always used when talking to him. She stops a few feet away from the bench, hands on hips and hard stare. “Why didn’t you bring Emmanuelle as I asked you to do? And also, it is your sister’s wedding and not even for that you could make the effort of looking presentable?" Clara points at his shirt. 

Farrier wishes his blonde interest wasn’t present for this but well, it can’t be helped now. So he takes a deep breath and prepares for the argument he knows is coming. "Because a) she isn’t my type and b) she has someone else and I’m not in the habit of getting between people that are happy together. And this?" he motions to his clothes. "Was approved by Charlotte, which is all that matters," he says neutrally. It wouldn’t do him any good to lose his temper. 

"Could you not have worn your full uniform?" his mother insists, her mouth twisted in distaste. 

They have argued and reargued over this so often that he’s lost count. He’d hoped that one of them had begun to understand his reasons. 

Seems not. 

"No," he answers nearly without waiting for the question to be finished. 

His mother sighs frustrated. "Why do you feel such aberration for something your father and I are proud of?"

Now Farrier has two degrees; one in art and other in accountancy. He speaks four languages and he’s graduated with honors from school. He was a rugby player and won 4 Coups with his team. 

And yet... this is what his parents are proud of. 

"It’s sad that the only thing for which you are proud of me is for having killed people," he says dispassionately, feeling suddenly tired. 

That shuts his mother up. She just stands there; hands still on hips and a constricted expression. She opens and closes her mouth a couple of times without saying anything. She exhales in obvious deflate 

With one last look, she twirls around and walks away without her usual purposeful stride. 

Farrier slauches back against the bench. He can feel a headache pulsing on his temples and he wants to take his knee-pad off and just-

"Are you alright?"

Shite he had forgotten he had company. Farrier begs the heavens to open and strike him down. 

"Fine," he grumbles, feeling himself redden with embarrassment. 

"Well then. I guess I should introduce myself... properly," his companion says, sounding unsure, between wanting and not wanting to pry. 

Farrier’s lips quirk up. "Yeah," he says softly. "I think it’s about time we did that." 

He hears the other chuckle. "Jack Collins," he stretches his hand. 

"Tom Farrier," he offers, shaking the other’s hand. It’s slender and strong and warm and Farrier doesn’t want to let go. 

"It’s a pleasure to formerly meet you," Jack says, smiling that dimpled smile Farrier would do anything to see again. 

"Pleasure is all mine," he replies, Collins’ hand still clasped in his. 

"I should’ve introduced myself a long time ago," the blonde says, blushing. 

Farrier has to make a physical effort not to reach out and touch his red cheek to feel if it’s as warm as it looks. Their hands still clasped. 

"I probably should have, too." Farrier admits, self-conscious about his... bus stalking. 

"You know, I-"

Farrier doesn’t find out what Collins was going to say however, for in that moment an overly cheerful Remi comes into view. What is it with people interrupting them?

The woman has a glow about her that wasn’t there before. Farrier smiles inwardly, it always gladdens him to see people he cares about happy. 

"Hey you, lovebirds!" she calls out. 

Collins snorts and, regretfully, lets go of Farrier’s hand. "What do you want, Rem?" he says, inflicting more annoyance to his tone just because. 

The woman just rolls her eyes. "Sorry to interrupt your moment, Jackie but it’s time for you to come catch the bouquet," she smirks. 

Collins smirks mischievously. "Maybe that polish woman you seem to fancy will," he raises a provocative eyebrow. 

Remi goes red. "I was going to be nice and introduce you to this lovely fellow but you don’t deserve it," she grumbles childishly and sends a murderous look before dramatically turning around and skulking away. "Just bring your ass inside, idjit," she yells without turning or stopping. 

She disappears back inside, leaving them alone again. They stare at the retreating figure, then at each other before bursting out laughing at how flustered she got. 

"Listen, before we get back," the blonde starts nervously, once the laughter dies down. "Maybe you’d like to... go for coffee sometime? You know, if you want," he rubs the back of his neck. 

Farrier smiles, delighted. "I would love to," he says, not at all surprised by the earnestness in his voice. 

Collins breathes in relief and takes his phone out to exchange numbers. 

Maybe this means life is starting to smile back at him. 

To everyone’s amusement, and to her embarrass delight, Remi is the one to catch the bouquet. Neither her family nor Farrier could refreain themselves from teasing her. 

Farrier likes these people and how open and honest in their affections they are. 

He dances around with Charlotte and then in group with John’s crazy family, laughing and generally having fun. Some of his own cousins, the ones who don’t have a stick up their asses and actually know how to have fun, join the dancing cohort. 

Farrier enjoys watching Collins dance; he is the only one that can follow Remi’s steps. His movements are syncronized and smooth, complimenting Remi’s perfectly. 

He’s worked out that the Nina he’d heard him talking with earlier in the park was none other than his sister Carina. So Farrier starts hoping again. 

The brunette is sitting at a table close to the dance-floor so he can still witness the group make fools of themselves while he rests his knee a bit. It’s entertaining to see Remi and Jack challenge each other to outrageous dancing steps while simultaneously Remi tries to follow Petra with her gaze and not being as subtle as she would want. 

Someone heavily dropping onto the chair next to his interrupts his contemplation of the beautiful people. 

"Where did you leave that pretty lass of yours, little cousin?" Arthur slurs more than ask.   
Farrier had hoped he wouldn’t have to see this man again today. 

No such luck, it seems. 

"Dancing, don’t you see?" he asks snarkily. 

His cousin is far gone enough to not notice his tone, so he laughs drunkenly. "Oh Tommy, don’t tell me she ditched you already?” he jostles his shoulder a bit too roughly. 

Farrier moves his shoulder to dislodge his cousin’s hand. "She isn’t like you,” he delivers the stocade with a perfect poker-face and a neutral tone. 

Arthur loses his chiperness in the blink of an eye. "Well isn’t that a low blow, eh?” he snips, drinking from a glass of something amber that doesn’t smell like scotch. 

Farrier gives one humorless laugh. “Oh so only you are allowed to deliver those? What’s fair about that?” he frowns. 

Arthur’s always been annoying, loud and mocking. He’s always masked his inferiority complex with extra swagger and a mean strike, pushing people’s buttons and then acting stranged when the person got offended. 

Arthur huffs and that glint that spells ‘danger’ he gets when he’s about to spur some neferious comment appears in his eyes. "I wouldn’t blame her if she left you. A woman like that, well she deserves something better than your broken self,” he smirks in self-satisfaction, purposefully slapping his lame knee before standing up and waltzing off to go bother someone else. 

Farrier bits his lip to keep himself from crying out in pain. 

"Tommy, Tommy are you alright?” Amanda, the nice younger sister of Arthur’s, rushes to his side having witnessed this last bit. 

He exhales slowly, trying to sooth the pulsing in his leg. He manages a curt nod though. "Y-yeah," he says brokenly.   
And suddenly it is all too much; the lights, the music, the sound of chatter and laughs and his ears start buzzing and his breathing gets louder and- 

He cann feel his kneecap bursting, the burning sensation was too much, there was blood everywhere and then there were people yelling and hands were moving his leg around and the pain... the pain-

“Tommy?" a gentle voice brings him back. 

His eyes snap open to the worried ones of his cousin. She has a hand hovering over Farrier’s arm, unsure as if to touch him or not. 

He gives her a poor excuse of a smile, his breaths coming shorter now. "Y- yes. Don’t worry. I’m just going to go get some air,” he says. 

He stands up unbalanced and makes his way to the exit. He nearly trips on his way out, he thinks he hears Arthur laugh and say something rude but he shrugs it off and just leaves. Amanda calls after him but he doesn’t stop. He can’t, he has to take himself out of there before causing a scene. 

Later he’d find out that Arthur got himself baned from future events hosted by Charlotte and John and that Irene stepped om his foot when he tried to flirt with her while she was dancing with Carina and Enrico. Farrier will also learn that Collins had punched the man when he made a snide comment about Irene and Farrier. 

But then again, later. 

Now he is slouched against a wall, waiting for his breathing to finally come back to normal and willing himself to calm down so he can rejoin the party. But his knee is still aching and he wants to cry; society and what it said about men crying be damned. 

Clicking steps alerted him he’s about to have company, he couldn’t be bothered to try and compose himself though, it doesn’t matter now that someone sees him like this. 

"Hey mate," Emile says softly, leaning next to him on the wall. 

"Yeah, hey," he says, not really feeling up to having a conversation. 

"Would you like to talk about it?” Emile asks. 

Farrier exhales slowly; he would like to talk about it but isn’t sure how to. He carefully slides down the wall to sit on the floor. "I- I sometimes get flashbacks. I’d be doing whatever and suddenly something would happen that triggers one,” he starts. 

Emile follows him down, stretching his legs in front of him. "Do they always come with panic attacks?" he inquires. 

Farrier shakes his head. "Not always," he replies, fidgeting with his hands. 

"And what about your knee?” the man asks, sounding tentative. 

"It’s fucked,” he says simply. 

Emile doesn’t say anything to that. He stays silent for a moment before speaking softly but firmly. "You know that doesn’t mean you’re broken, right?” he says, hinting that he had heard his cousin’s comment. 

Farrier chuckles humorlessly. "Tell that to all my failed relationships,” he says, his self-loathing making an act of presence. "It’s hard to believe it when there are days I can barely function as a human being,” he mutters, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. 

"Jesus Christ," Emile cries in incredulity. "You went to war and you survived. You have a stable job and support yourself, you are functional,” he says emphatically. "You didn’t come out unscathed, of course you didn’t. No one could come unscathed from something like that. It for no reason, makes you broken,” he turns solem eyes to him and places a hand on his shoulder. "It makes you a survivor," he states. 

No one had told him these words before. It should have been obvious and he feels silly for not having seen it like that before. Probably he just needed an outsider to point that out. 

He smiles gratefully to the man, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder in return. "Maybe no one had helped me think of it that way before," he confesses. 

Emile pats him gently. "Lucky you have a bunch of us back there willing to remind you." 

In that moment a nuget of hope and understanding was sowed inside of him. He shan’t heal on his own.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holly shit and done! God, I can’t believe I finished this. It did take these characters a while to decide how they wanted to end this and here it is. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy it.

Unexpected

Farrier arrives home late (or early, depending on your point of view). He is exhausted and aching in more ways than physical. 

After his conversation with Emile he’d gone back to the party and managed to get more or less back in the celebratory mood. 

Unconsciously, or not, he spent the rest of his stay avoiding Collins and instead danced around with his cousin Amanda and with Irene, who didn’t question his avoidance of her cousin and had given him a fierce hug when she’d said goodbye. 

Now he is laying on his comfort-cot with Beckett purring softly on his chest. 

He is sad, there’s no denying it. Though this time he isn’t sure why. He just feels like staying here forever and never go out again. 

His mother has been calling him near non-stop since 10 am and he’s ignored them all. He isn’t in the mood to listen to her diatribe. 

He feels foolish, having fallen in love with someone he barely knows and now sulking because he feels unworthy of the man not even knowing if his feelings could be returned. 

His phone vibrates and Farrier considers ignoring it but when he sees it’s his sister he chooses to answer it. 

"’Ello Charlie," he greets, trying to sound cheery. "Shouldn’t you be in your way to Bora Bora?"

The background noise faintly coming from the other side spells ‘airport’ so she must be about to leave. "Tommy, thank god. Mom’s been nagging me to check up on you. She said you aren’t picking up her calls and she is worried," the woman says between relieved and scolding. 

Farrier exhales tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I’m alright, she shouldn’t make such a fuss, especially not when you’re about to go on your honeymoon," he grumbles. 

Charlie harrumphs. "Don’t be silly, Tommy. Even she could tell there was something off with you at the party. And apparently she talked to Amy-"

"Fuck," he exclaims, interrupting her. "She shouldn’t have," he grunts, dragging a hand over his face a little more agressively than necessary. 

"Mom was about to drive herself to your place," his sister says with a note of humor. 

Farrier groans in mortification. "Charlie..." he whines. "I’m fine," he insists. 

"Thomas," she starts in that stern voice that lets him know she isn’t buying his bullshit. "I know you, I know you are hurting," she says, her voice softening somewhat. "Please don’t shut yourself in that apartment of yours," if she sounds pleading he doesn’t mention it. 

"Enjoy your honeymoon, love." Farrier says, cutting whatever else she might say short. He isn’t in the mood. "Say hi to John for me and don’t worry, I’ll be fine," he tries to sound reassuring, knowing he’s missed by a mile. 

A sigh comes from the other side. "I love you, brother," she sounds deflated and Farrier hates it but he is also too tired to muster the will to care. "Take care of yourself and don’t isolate yourself," she says sternly. 

"No promises," he singsongs before ending the call. 

Farrier thinks that if he didn’t have Beckett, he wouldn’t get up even for food. He’s been digressing in his progress with his PTSD, and the pain in his leg... he’s even called in sick at work because he can barely move. His boss has always been understanding with him, thankfully. 

After another day of ignoring his mother, he finally answered the phone and proceeded to have a heartfelt conversation with her about everything and ended with her stating that she would be by with food later that day. He had tried to dissuade her but there was no stopping Clara Farrier when she got an idea into her head. 

He knows she will probably fuss over the state of his place and of his own but surprisingly he doesn’t mind; he wants her here. 

Even he needs motherly comfort in his down moments. 

He’s managed to crawl his way into the couch after changing his shirt and fed his feline friend and now he is sitting dejectedly staring at the bottle of medicine, wiggling its imaginary eyebrows at him enticingly. 

He hates taking the pills, they sometimes make him drowsy. He’s never liked to feel lethargic. 

Today he is thankful that his mother seems to own a key to his flat because he wouldn’t be able to get up and open it. 

"Oh Thomas," she says, her always stern mask replaced by concern and sorrow. 

"Mum," he greets, managing a loop-sided smile. 

The woman swallows and makes her way to the kitchen to leave the food she’s brought. After only a few moments, she comes back with a bowl of a steaming and mouth-watering smelling soup. 

"Thanks,” he mumbles, accepting the offering. 

His mother sits next to him on the couch and just stares at him with glittering eyes. She doesn’t say anything while he gulps his broth greedily. 

"Thomas,” the woman finally speaks when he finishes eating. "I am worried about you," she confesses in a more earnest and overall motherly tone than the one she usually wears when speaking those words. 

He sighs, leaning over to place the bowl on the floor. "It isn’t my intention to worry you,” he says quietly. 

"You are my son, I will always worry. It matters little if you want to or not," she explains as if she were talking to a small child. 

"It isn’t as if I would know, wouldn’t I?” he remarks, not able to stop himself. 

Clara lowers her eyes to her fidgeting hands. "Despite what you may think, I love you, Thomas,” she whispers. 

“You have a weird way to demonstrate it," he replies bittingly. "Why do you let father treat me like that?” his voice breaks a little. 

"Your father cares about you-"

He scoffs, interrupting her. "Look at my leg, mother. Look at my leg and tell me if this is caring," he motions to the ugly sight of his knee. All the anger, anguish and pain he’s been harboring since the fateful day he left the hospital finally getting an outlet. 

His mother glances to his injury, closing her eyes with an intake of breath. "Forgive me, son. Forgive me," she whispers, a tear rolling down her cheek. 

"Father did this to me,” he screams brokenly, letting all his represed emotions out after years of swallowing them. “And it hurts. It hurts so much and sometimes I can’t- it’s hard to bare the disgusted expression in people’s faces-" his voice breaks and he hides his own face in his hands, muffling his sobs. 

Slender arms wrap, surprisingly strongly, around him. He resists at first but his mother persists and he surrenders to her embrace. 

He cries for the frustration he feels whenever he discovers there’s something he can’t do anymore. 

He cries because of the pained frustration he feels whenever one of his partners is disgusted by his scars, or whenever they leave saying he has too much baggage, or that he would look better with his full uniform and all his medals. 

He cries because of the rejection, the pain, the self-loathing. The heartbreak. 

He cries because of the loneliness he’s felt for a long, long time. 

He cries because he has the right to. And his mother takes it all in stride. 

What feels like years later, his tears run out. He stays breathing heavily against her neck until his heart-rate slows to normal. 

"’M s-sorry, just soaked your pristine blouse," he mumbles, eyeing the ocean on the beige fabric. 

"Oh sweetheart," his mother wipes her own tears away. "It is quite alright. I have been waiting for this since you got out of the hospital,” she admits, caressing his cheek softly. 

He huffs a weak laugh. "You’ve been waiting for me to break down for ten years?” 

"No, Thomas. I have been waiting for you to let me in and help you for ten years," she whispers a bit wobbly. 

He swallows around the lump in his throat. "Why did you let father do this?” Farrier asks quietly. 

"I did not. I just wasn’t there that day," she explains, letting Farrier pull away without protest.   
"Your uncle had... well, he’d gotten himself into a pickle and I had to go help him," she sounds exhausted and Farrier suddenly-finally-realizes how strong this woman is. "I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry I haven’t known how to be there for you."

"It’s okay, mum. Just-" Farrier rubs his still stinging eyes. "Promise me you won’t introduce me to anyone else. Please," he begs. 

His mother sighs. "Alright, fine," she concedes, chuckling a little. 

She spends the rest of the day with him; she cleans his place, she forces him to shower and shave and even manages to give Beckett a hair brush. She packs all the food in the fridge, instructing him to eat it all or else she’d be back. She also tells him he should visit his therapist more often. 

Then she leaves him supper, she hugs him tight and goes home 

Farrier does feel better afterward so he can actually get a full night’s rest in what feels like forever. His cat sleeping and purring happily next to him. 

The next morning Farrier wakes up feeling refreshed and in less pain than he had been in previous days. 

Beckett supervises his cooking of breakfast and demands his fare share of bacon. Because getting silly humans back in order is a tough job. 

After feeding himself and tidying his room, he calls his boss to let him know he’d be back to work on Monday. 

He spends the rest of the weekend watching a documentary about nature and finishing the fifth book of Game ofThrones

Jesus H. Christ, what is wrong with George RR Martin? Also, where are the two missing books from the series? 

Farrier wants to scream in frustration. What does this guy think he is, making them wait literal years for the next book. It should be illegal. 

His friends laugh at him when he complains about it and proceed to engage in a silly discussion about what would happen if the White Walkers won the war. 

He’s also been ignoring the texts Collins has sent him since the day after the wedding. Varied texts that go from a question for coffee to questions about his well-being and random facts that he finds interesting. And even when they warm his heart and make him smile, he never replies. There is no point, is there? 

No. 

Collins doesn’t stop texting, though. Farrier feels a pang of remorseful guilt but it’s better like this. 

For both of them. 

Collins is young, he will forget and move on. And Farrier... well, he is a simple old fool, already broken enough so he knows how to manage. 

Not that it would matter anyway. 

Because come Monday he is being summoned to his boss’ office. 

"I’m glad to see you back, lad,” the older man greets, smiling gently. “Please sit, there is something I would like to talk to you about."

Farrier swallows, trying not to show any nerves, and takes a seat in front of his boss. "Thank you, sir. I’m glad to be back," he returns the smile though somewhat shakier. "What did you want me for?” 

The man spins around on his chair once before settling back again. "Relax son, it’s nothing bad. On the contrary, if I can say so myself," he winks conspiratorially. 

Farrier feels his nerves ease down and he finally rests back against the chair. "What is it, then?" he asks. 

His boss leans forward, resting his arms on the top of the desk and clasps his hands. "Do you remember my friend Rafael? The one that has the Consulting Company?" after a nod from Farrier, he goes on. "He’s been looking for a Chief Consultant and I may have slipped him your name. Turns out he remembers you too and told me that, if you want it, the position is yours." 

Well, talk about welcome-back news, eh? 

Farrier stares at the expecting man in front of him in silent astonishment for a couple of seconds. It isn’t every day you recieve a sort of promotion, after all. 

"Oh-ah,” he clears his throat, rearranging himself on the chair. "You mean- like, moving to Spain?” he asks, sounding more choked than what he would like. 

His boss grins, in amusement. "Yes, exactly like that."

Farrier’s mental capacity, it appears, has melted away. He doesn’t seem to be able to process anything. I mean... Spain. 

As in like... Spain. And a better job offer. 

"But why me?" he really has to know. 

His boss rolls his eyes. "Because, my dear boy, you are a trustworthy, responsible and hardworking individual and I think this would be a great growth opportunity: professionally and personally and It actually can do you some good," the man says. 

Farrier bits the inside of his cheek; he is actually considering the offer. A change of scenery would be... welcomed. He had enjoyed it; the learning, the food and culture, the people... 

Having land between him and this country would be great, too. Land between him and-

"So, what say you, Tom?" his boss prompts him. 

Farrier nods to himself and opens his mouth to answer. 

-

"Je peux pas croir que tu pars... que tu vas me quitter," Erik whines, slinging an arm around Farrier’s shoulder, the other hand placed dramatically over his heart. 

Canfield rolls his eyes. "We are not drunk enough yet for your dramatics," he sighs, shaking his head. "He isn’t leaving us, he is simply moving," he says, sipping from his tumbler. 

Farrier smiles fondly into his own glass. Ever since he told his friends about the move, he’s gotten a mirriad of texts that go between nonsensical and just lines of emojis. That he’s ignored because the level of dramatics was absurd. 

He will miss this gits, even if he won’t lose the contact with them, it won’t be the same as seeing them every other day. 

Farrier sighs contentedly. "You can always come visit me," he says, pushing his friend away and dropping down onto the couch. 

Erik sighs dramatically for- however long before he seems to remember something that makes his face light up. "Hey, so I went to Irina’s the other day and there was that bartender that likes you, though I don’t know why," he cackles, ducking to avoid the empty can of beer that Farrier throws   
at him. "Anyway, he waspretty upset when I told him you were leaving," he says. 

Farrier freezes mid-sip. "You told Alex I’m leaving?" he asks, needing the clarification. 

Erik rolls his eyes. "Of course you know his name," he says sarcastically. 

"Erik," he calls out sharply. "Why did you tell him?"

Erik sobers up at the seriousness in Farrier’s tone and blinks at him in confusion. "He asked about you, Farri," his belgian accent evident. Farrier loves to tease him by saying it’s a French accent because all French sounds the same, even in Belgium. This always earns him some colorful cussing in French and an elbow to the ribs. Not this time. Erik huffs and goes on. "Said something about you agreeing to have coffee with his friend Jackie and then never replied to the texts," he shakes his head in disappointment. "That doesn’t sound like you, Farri."  
Canfield nods in agreement. 

"Aye Tom, you’ve never left a lady hanging," he tuts. 

Farrier sighs through his nose in exasperation. "Jackie isn’t a girl," he confesses, rubbing his face roughly with both hands. "He’s the lad I met in the bus," he mumbles through his fingers. 

"’Lad in the bus’?" both his friends say at the same time. 

Farrier sighs what seems to be his whole soul before he tells them everything; about meeting a blonde beautiful boy, about their first interactions, about the wedding. He tells them about falling in love with a stranger, about feeling inadecuate, about his insecurities. 

His friends give him pitying looks and Farrier wants the carpet to swallow him. 

"When will you stop wallowing in your self-pity, Thomas?" Erik asks harshly. "You are about to be forty and yet it has always been the same whenever you met someone not introduce by your mother and that you actually like. You never let them close and get to know you," he goes on, his tone hard. 

Farrier is left speechless. Erik has never spoken to him like that before. Sure, they have fought before but- this isn’t fighting. 

"He is right, mate," Canfield says gentler. "It’s time you let yourself be happy, Tom,"he says. 

Farrier shakes his head stubbornly. "You don’t understand. He is too young and I’ve got too much baggage. Besides, I actually want to go. I think it would be good for me," he says earnestly. 

His friends are looking disappointedly at him but they also know him so they knew it was pointless to argue. 

"Farri," Erik still tries, as always. "This man can be what you’ve been waiting for," he says gently. 

"Maybe. But he may not be what I need," he shrugs dismissively. "Listen, I’m leaving in two days so can we actually get to the fun?" he changes the subject. Or rather brings it back to the purpose of this reunion. 

Erik sighs and Canfield shakes his head but they say nothing else on the matter. 

-

"We have been over this a gazillion times, Charlie," Farrier sighs exasperatedly as he changes the phone to the other ear. "I don’t mind you bringing Remi and Irene," he says. 

"You don’t have to sound so sullen, Tommy," his sister says chirpily. 

Farrier pauses in his task, which is serving Beckett his food and if the cat could, he’d be raising an eyebrow at him. Farrier just rolls his eyes at the furry tyrant and pushes the plate towards the cat who is sitting expectantly in the counter. 

"Sorry, love," he sighs, deflating. "I’m just tired."

That is the truth. He’s spent the last day and a half arranging the last details of his moving. Surprisingly, or not, his mother had come the day before and fretted over him. She even had threatened to come to Spainn and help him settle down. 

Thankfully Farrier had been able to persuade her not to. 

"Tommy," she says. "If you rather we don’t-" 

"Oh hush, Charlie. If I didn’t want you here, I would have said so," he says, leaning back against the counter. 

Charlie giggles. "Okay Tommy. I know you’ve been busy so I don’t want to impose." 

Farrier presses his closed eyes with his fingers. "Listen love, it’s only going to be the four of you, right? No. .. surprises?" he asks hesitantly. 

There’s a pause on the other side of the phone that makes him nervous. "No surprises," finally comes the answer and Farrier lets out the breath he’d apparently been holding. 

"Thanks Charlie," he whispers in relief. 

"Don’t mention it, brother," she says gently before hanging up. 

-

They all arrive bearing gifts in the form of alcohol and food. Which is good because he has nothing but tea to offer. 

"Oh dear, I can’t believe you’re leaving." Remi snifs, twining their arms together. 

Farrier sighs fondly. "You wouldn’t be the first, Emi," he’s heard the same thing ever since he broke the announcement. 

"And won’t be the last," his sister hugs his other side. "I can’t believe you are leaving, Tommy," she whines theatrically. 

Farrier rolls his eyes and pets her head. "You have already said that a hundred times, Charlotte," he feels compelled to point that out. 

"Well; I’m your little sister, I can say that as many times as I want," she grumbles. 

"I have 99 to go, then." Remi says mischievously and Farrier has no doubt that she would make good on her word. 

"I think you should have brought Petra, too," he says to Charlie, hidding his smile at the spluttering that comes from his other side. 

"Come on ladies, leave the poor man alone. We’ve been here all of five minutes." John chastises, thankfully they listen and begrudgingly pull away. "Hey mate, Emile sends his regards," the man says, coming to pat him on the shoulder. 

Farrier smiles gratefully and pats him on the back. "It’s a pity he couldn’t come," he says honestly. 

"Be reassured that you’ll have him visiting first chance he’s got." Irene says, coming to greet him with a tight hug. 

"I bet he will," he laughs into the woman’s hair. "I know you will all probably be there too," he smiles as she pulls away. 

She winks at him. "You know it," she says, walking to the counter where the liquor is. "Am I still picking you up tomorrow?"

"Yes, dear," he answers. 

He had considered just calling for a taxi and be done with it. But then he wrote on the group he has with these misfits if any would be willing to drive him and Irene had answered right away on the positive. 

"Okay, no. None of that," Remi says, clapping once to gather their attention and then produces a deck of cards. "Let the games begin!" 

"Oh my, are those Emile’s?" John asks in delight. 

Remi smiles like the Cheshire cat. 

-

After the last goodbyes and his guests have finally gone, Farrier rests against the door and just breathes for a moment. 

A meow brings him out of his reverie because of course it had to be. Farrier opens his eyes, spotting Beckett sitting over a spot on the kitchen’s tiles, an expectant look in his amber eyes. 

The feline meows again, pawing the floor. Farrier sighs, he knows what his friend wants; for him to finally lift the loose tile and pull out the chest he’d hidden and forgotten there for years. 

He is about to leave for probably ever and yet he isn’t ready to uncover that part of his life. 

But Beckett meows again, insistent. He can’t delay it anymore, he is leaving in the morning so if he doesn’t deal with this demon now he will drag it with him wherever he goes and he doesen’t want that. 

Taking a fortifying breath, he steps away from the door and makes his hesitant way towards the place and very carefully sits down next to Beckett. He stares at the tile for a second before ripping it open. Like one does with a band-aid. 

And there it is, staring back at him from the depth of the abyss. His burden. 

The chest with his medals. 

He brings it back into the surface and places it on the floor. He swallows and lifts the lid. His 6 medals are all there, in the exact position he had left them. 

They seem to reproach him, demanding why he had abandoned them, asking if he had forgotten. The dead know how to wait. 

He wants to close his eyes. He wants to scream, to yell at them that he hadn’t forgotten, that he just wasn’t ready. That he isn’t sure he is ready. 

But it doesn’t matter if he is, he owes it to them; to the pilots whose lives awarded him this worthless pieces of metal. He takes out the stack of photos from underneath each medal and looks at them blankly. 

24 men. He killed 24 men and he was condecorated for it. 

That right there is why Farrier has hated himself all these years. Maybe it’s time he forgave himself. 

It had been a war. It was either kill or be killed. It wasn’t personal. 

"I’m sorry," he says in german to each of the pilots. "I’m sorry."

This time, when he puts them back inside, he places them over the medals and when he closes the lid he feels nothing but peace. 

His cat meows and Farrier turns to his faithful companion to smile at him. "Thank you, my friend," he mumbles. 

—

What to do with them though? He doesn’t want to keep them. He can’t. 

Then an idea crosses his mind; he could send them to his father. Yeah, the man has always treated the medals with reverence. 

He fleetingly considers writing the man a note but then figures the chest is a statement on its own. 

So, with a satisfied smile, he puts the case next to his packed bags and goes to lay down on his cot under the windowledge for the last time. 

A newfeeling of freedom settling over him. 

Irene arrives early the next day and helps him get his luggage into her car. Now the only thing left to do is convince Beckett to get inside his carry-on, which is no easier feat. They have to bribe the proud feline with pieces of the fancy ham they had brought yesterday. 

And then there is nothing else to do but leave. A lumpforms in Farrier’s throat. He lived in this apartment for ten years and yet he never imagined he would ever say goodbye. 

"Who would have thought that saying goodbye to a place could be as hard as saying goodbye to a person, huh?" Irene says quietly, coming to stand next to him on the open doorway. 

He swallows the lump. "Yeah," he says. 

Irene places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. "Come on, Tommy. It’s time," she says. 

He nods and gives the empty apartment one last look before closing the door to something more than a living space. 

-

The drive to the airport is easy and relaxed, they talk about Spain and the sights and food and places he hasn’t been but he wants to. And Beckett is grumpily grumbling from the backseat. 

Irene tells him about Italy and how it had been like to live there. She tells him about how easy it had been getting used to living there and that she is considering moving back. 

And just like that, time flew. 

"Hey."

"So."

They speak at the same time and they chuckle awkwardly and then they motion for the other to speak first so Farrier huffs and speaks. 

He bends over and picks his case up. "Could you please take this to Charlie and tell her to give it to father?"

Irene stares at the case, then at Farrier and nods without asking. As if she knows what it is and what it means. 

"What were you going to say?" Farrier asks, as he passes her the case. 

They are parked outside the airport with plenty of time to spare so he rather spend as much as he can with her. 

She gives him a searching look before grabbing her purse and taking out an envelope. She contemplates it for a moment before finally tending it to him. "I promised Jackie I would deliver this to you so here you go," she says. 

"Is this why you agree to give me a lift?" he asks suspiciously, turning the paper around in his hands. 

Irene snorts. "Don’t be an idiot, Tomás," she says reproachfully. "I could just as easily have given it to you yesterday."

"Why didn’t you?" he asks, turning to look at her. 

She gives him a look. "Because," she says and that’s it. 

Farrier exhales, resting his head against the backrest. "Irene," he starts. 

"You don’t have to say anything, Tommy," she interrupts him gently. "Read the letter or don’t read it, that’s up to you. I just wish you’d had the guts to explain things to him," she says. "You shouldn’t ghost people," she adds quietly. 

He closes his eyes tightly "you are right," he admits, guilt rolling in his belly. "I-"

Irene makes a dismissive gesture with a hand and gets out of the car. "Come-on, it’s time," she says. 

He takes a deep breath and follows her out. He gets Beckett out and then helps Irene bring the bags down from the trunk. 

When the luggage is all on the curb, they stand motionless for a moment before they let out a laugh and Irene opens her arms and Farrier falls into them. 

"Take care of yourself, Tommy," she whispers, tightening her arms around him. "No te olvides de nosotros."

Farrier smiles sorrowfully into her neck. "Lo prometo," he whispers back. 

-

6 months later

Farrier rushes toward the bus stop, praying that he arrives in time. He had to stay longer in the office to help Tania prepare the meeting in two days. 

He had thought it would be harder for him to fit and get accustomed to life in Spain. But it waasn’t. 

It was actually pretty easy. Spaniards are really friendly and food is great, the weather is nice and Beckett has actually made friends with the neighborhood cats. 

He works well with his coworkers and with his boss, he couldn’t have asked for anything else. 

Thunder can be heard now and it smells like rain and damn but Farrier wants to be home right about now. So he walks quicker, he doesn’t fancy getting wet. 

He doesn’t breathe until he sits in the back of the bus and finally resting his leg. He should probably invest in a car by now, seeing as he is staying here for a while. 

There is a loud clap of thunder and just like that the sky is pouring all it has to offer over this beautiful city. Farrier rests his head against the window and enjoys the show. 

In the 6 months he’s been here it has rained ten times, eleven with this one, and each time he’d felt compelled to snap a picture and sent to certain someone. There will be no point though. 

Collins wouldn’t answer. 

After Irene had left him in the airport, Farrier had called Collins and apologized for ghosting him. He had explained his reasons and had also told him what had happened at the wedding. 

Collins had listened without interrupting, he then told Farrier that he understood and that he’d stop texting. Then he had thanked him for calling and promptly hung up. 

Farrier had tried to text him later on but received no answer. 

He deserved that. It had hurt anyway. 

He hadn’t even had the will to read the letter Irene gave him. 

He feels like a coward. He is a war veteran and he feels like a coward. It took him ten years to deal with that issue, a letter shouldn’t take him that long. 

We were strangers starting out on a journey, never dreaming what we have to go through...

Farrier knows he’s lost something precious, something he won’t find as easily, when he let Collins go. But he can’t do anything about that now. 

Now here we are and I’m suddenly standing at the begining with you...

Wait. 

Wait. 

That song.

Farrier wips his head around and-

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

No one told me I was going to find you. Unexpected, what you did to my heart. 

"N-no," he stutters, clumsily pushimg his bag away to leave the space free. 

Collins, yes Collins, smiles his dimpled smile and sits next to him. 

In the end I wanna be standing at the begining with you. 

"What are you doing here, Collins?" he finally dares to ask, after composing himself a little. 

The Scotsman shrugs nonchalantly. "University transfer," he says. 

"Huh, thought you wanted to go to Denmark?" Farrier says confused, remembering one of the texts the lad had sent him. 

"Yeah well, there was something much worthier here," the blonde answers, intently looking into Farrier’s eyes. 

The brunette lets out a silly giggle. "Well then," he says, offering Collins a hand. 

"Well then," the other returns, interlacing their fingers together. "You owe me a coffee. "

Farrier smiles. "Yeah, I do."

He won’t screw this up. Not again.


End file.
